Andrea
by Missmishka
Summary: Post "Beside the Dying Fire," Rick struggles with Andrea's fate on many levels; for many reasons. An alternate canon mashup of the comics, TV series and various whims of the muses. Basically, my rewrite of S3 with the focus on bringing the comic 'ship of Andrea/Rick into the series. Chapter 27/? uploaded. *WARNING:* Canon character deaths and canon typical violence included.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm seeking suggestions for a better title for this series, so if any come to mind reading, please share. "Andrea" was the only thing that came to mind as she's the obvious theme and focus.

**_Andrea, by MissMishka_**

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories, thoughts or circumstances embellished on a little more than the original format had done. Not for any profit.

* * *

"Get one thing straight. You're staying, this isn't a democracy anymore."

Rick looks at them each in turn and sees that is decree is taken seriously by them all. He sets his jaw against the sounds of Carl sobbing against Lori's chest and feels his teeth grit at the expression of near horror on his wife's face.

Hershel is the only one clear and steadfast in showing support for the strong words. Daryl's a hard one to read, as always, but the hunter hasn't failed him yet so Rick thinks he'll continue to have an ally there.

The weight of all eyes upon him is intolerable after all the day had put him through. He can't retract the words spoken, nor would he if it were an option. They had placed him as leader, happily setting Shane aside from that role, and know they had to accept his rulings to see to their survival.

With the thought of that survival in mind, Rick turns his back on the silenced gathering and stalks from the ruins to find the cause of that damned snapping twig.

The moonlight is bright enough out in the open, but the noise had come from the woods and he would be going in without a flashlight. He suspects there wouldn't be a great deal of mourning among the others if he gets bitten at this particular moment so he moves with extra caution to try insuring such a thing doesn't happen.

"Little harsh, don't you think?"

She steps away from a tree and moves into the lighting enough to be seen and Rick's heart damned near stops. He levels the Glock at her forehead and poises his finger to pull the trigger before he recognizes her. Even when recognition occurs, he's slow to ease off and lower the weapon.

"Would have thought Shane would be the one to haunt me," he says aloud.

He gives his head a shake to clear away this distraction so he can continue on his mission, but the apparition moves into his path when he would have crossed into the woods.

"I heard that part," she says quietly, her blue eyes soft in the darkness.

There is no judgment or condemnation on _her_ face and Rick feels a kick to his gut as it suddenly sinks in all that had been lost this day. Breath leaves his chest in a rush that seems to remove all strength from his being. His head and shoulders slump forward and he feels moisture gathering in his eyes. He moves to the nearest tree to press his forehead to the rough back while he tries to push past the grief.

"You did what you had to do, Rick," her voice speaks from beside him, so caring and strong that he clenches his eyes shut against tears wanting to fall. "I'll admit it's a bit of a shock, but we've had plenty of those lately. I understand and they will too once they've had time to get a grip again."

He imagines her hand on his back in a gesture of consolation and support; swears he can _feel_ her hand. It's somehow enough to help him in drawing breath back into his lungs to stand straight again. He sniffs loudly to put an end to his moment of wallowing, opens his eyes and turns to get back on course to finding whatever lurked in this dark place.

She doesn't block his way this time, just moves aside and watches him as he steadies his grip on the gun and begins to creep further away from the light of the clearing. Unlike the stares of the group that he has just fled, her gaze is one he can't seem to go without acknowledging. He feels it like an actual presence upon his back and stops in his tracks to allow a confession into the darkness.

"I'm sorry I lost you," he whispers, not even sure himself just how he means the apology.

In the moment his mind is replaying that first contact between them with her panicked shoving of that Ladysmith in his face. He remembers the sheepish woman contemplating the legalities of stealing a mermaid necklace in the presence of a Deputy Sheriff; that same woman solemnly placing the stolen jewelry around her dead sister's neck. He thinks of all she had been through; all each member of the group had suffered and sighs.

"Dale never should have talked you out of it. The explosion would have been quick and complete. You deserved better than…" he trails off, not wanting to think of how her ending must have been when the Walkers took her down at the farm.

"We all deserve better," he can practically hear that familiar little twist of her lips that was yet wasn't a smile as she made the statement. "I don't regret getting out of the CDC, Rick. It isn't easy, but I think that just goes to show that its still life and I want to live."

Her words confuse him and a frown furrows his brow as he turns to face the apparition.

"You're dead."

She blinks at the words and he remembers some of those theories on ghosts; how they haunted the living world because they didn't know that their bodies had passed on.

"T-Dog saw you go down. We lost you with the farm," he explains slowly, moving toward her with each word.

"I got back up and I got away, Rick. I'm alive."

It's his turn to blink, wondering why this figment of his thought would say such a thing.

"She had help," an unfamiliar voice speaks from nearby and he jumps to aim his gun at the figure moving from the shadows.

"No," Andrea's ghost says, rushing to stop him from raising the weapon to a firing position.

She blocks the movement by throwing her arm over his and pushing to force the gun downward until it points safely at the ground. A ghost has no form to do such a thing; even he knows that in all the uncertainty of this world.

"She's with me," that familiar voice is speaking, but he can only stare in disbelief into those big blue eyes.

"Andrea?" he asks with his voice quiet and likely to break if he tries to say more.

She just nods like they're meeting up in camp after a casual day of chores; like one of those abnormally normal days they had found at the farm before they learned that barn was filled with the undead.

"This is Michonne," she continues, turning slightly from him to indicate the dark figure standing tensely nearby. "She found me in the woods and-"

"Andrea," he interrupts and put his hand to her shoulder to turn her attention back to him.

The shoulder is solid in his grasp.

He puts the hand to her cheek as she turns to look at him and her skin is chilled by the cold night, but it warms beneath his palm as only living flesh could.

"Andrea," is all he can seem to say as he yanks her suddenly into his arms and feels the indisputable _presence_ of her in his embrace.

Her arms are slow to wrap around him as if wary or uncertain of the hug, but when she finally returns the embrace she clasps him tightly. He huffs out a disbelieving laugh at her attempt at a bear hug and squeezes her even tighter until they seem to be in a contest to see who can squeeze the other tighter, laugh louder or cry harder at the impossible reunion.

The others find them like that; reacting to the unusual racket. Rick has no idea what kind of scene they make in the moment, hugging, laughing and crying like fools, but everyone is quick to join in upon realizing he held Andrea in his arms.

It's oddly difficult for him to release her so that the others can embrace the blonde and exclaim their disbelief at her obvious survival. He gets pushed quickly aside and falls back to watch the reunion in a daze.

"She wouldn't stop until we found you. I was skeptical that your group even existed, let alone cared about her given how I found her alone and besieged."

He turns to find the stranger beside him, observing both the scene and him with dark, curious eyes.

A million questions race through his mind; how had they found them, how had she saved Andrea, how had Andrea survived the herd, but he couldn't find voice for a single one.

"If we had known she hadn't died; that there was any chance she'd survived, we wouldn't have stopped until _I _found _her_."

He isn't aware of the change in pronoun from plural to singular, but those eyes move to give their full attention to him. There's a wondering light in her gaze for a moment before she nods in acceptance of the statement.

"She's a fighter."

He nods at the statement and finds his eyes drawn back to the group.

At that particular moment, Andrea is kneeling on the ground, ruffling Carl's hair. His son had apparently taken off the Sheriff's hat that Rick had given him and placed it on the blonde's head, because she was laughing as she tried to get it balanced over her ponytail. She manages a miracle of getting the boy to smile before she hugs him to her chest.

Rick feels his own lips curling at the way the woman embraces his son and Carl clings in return.

As if sensing his regard, Andrea's head lifts for her eyes to find his over Carl's shoulder. The boy is chattering excitedly over the woman's survival and the two adults share a private smile at his exuberance. Rick is reminded of how often Andrea and Shane had looked over his son and he's relieved that at least one surrogate parent has survived the day.

Something flickers in her gaze at the exchange and she suddenly drops her eyes to refocus rather determinedly on the boy.

"I don't see a reason to let that nice, warm fire go to waste," she announces, pushing awkwardly to her feet with Carl still clinging to her like a limpet. "How about we go enjoy it while I tell you all about my day?"

There's no disagreement from anyone as they all begin to move back toward the ruins that they had chosen; seeking the partial protection of its still standing walls for the night.

As Rick moves forward he realizes there are no footsteps from the woman that had stood beside him. He turns to find her quietly watching the departure, but making no move to join it. A quick look at the others finds Andrea to have stopped to look back as well.

"Come on, Michonne," she invites the woman and Rick does a mental palm to forehead smack at the reminder of the stranger's name.

He looks again at the woman and finds her looking to him for a seconding of the blonde's invitation. Wondering how much the women had overheard of his speech, his mouth twists in an awkward smile to try putting the newcomer at ease.

"We'd like to have you join us if you would," he says. "The fires all I can offer at the moment, but you're welcome to it."

Her attention is oddly intent and considering before she gives him a nod and moves forward to accept the invitation. He watches her stride forward until she draws even with Andrea. The blonde gives the woman a reassuring grin and a nod that seems to say "I told you so" before she turns her blue gaze back to him.

Rick takes in the scene with a suspicious lurch in his gut. There is something just too _right_ in seeing her standing there; wearing his hat, holding his son and looking at him in open invitation to join in the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

"So this Walker knocked me down," Andrea is saying, her face animated in the flickering firelight as everyone listens intently to the story.

"Sounds to me like you tripped again," Daryl snorts, earning an elbow from Carol at the interruption.

Andrea just pauses and grins at the man as the two take a moment to share some apparent memory within the glance.

"Anyway," she resumes, "it was right on top of me and I had nothing left. No exit, no weapon, no _energy. _I couldn't even scream I was so sure that that was it. Then this sword comes in from out of nowhere and takes the thing's head right off. The corpse fell beside me and I just laid there staring up at this hooded figure holding the bloody blade and all I could think is, 'Oh shit.'"

The group chuckles as prompted by the way the scene is retold with everyone taking random moments to sneak peeks at the stranger in their midst.

Michonne had positioned herself by the entryway, keeping close to an exit point rather than approach the fire for the warmth he'd offered.

Rick understands her reservation and hopes she'll overcome it. The woman had saved Andrea and seen the blonde back to the group; Rick is sincere in welcoming her to join them. In his eyes, the newcomer was part of their dysfunctional family now whether she chose to be or not.

"You can't imagine what it was like to just lie there with her standing over me," Andrea looks to the woman being discussed, "to look up at you in that instant. I had no idea if my fate had just gotten better or worse. You had the cloak and hood and sword and those..."

She trails off for the briefest of moments and Rick would have missed it if his eyes had been doing anything other than taking in everything that Andrea is doing. He looks discreetly back at Michonne and sees the silent communication between the women. There's a secret there, between those two, and Rick will learn it if he's to trust this stranger among them.

"It was just this utterly surreal moment," Andrea hurries on before anyone else even notices a pause in the story.

"What is up with that sword?"

All eyes turn to Michonne at T-Dog's question, including Rick's.

She holds up well to their scrutiny and seems almost to have been expecting the question; to have answered it many times in the past.

"We were getting ready to hole up in my house to wait for whatever this was to blow over. So sure it would pass. I went to our neighbor's house to look for supplies. I was hoping for a gun by way of weapon but only found this," the woman almost unconsciously fingers the hilt of the sword on her hip. "The boy collected them. I had hated that about him. Would swear he killed our dog with a sword. Why else would I have found the thing sharpened? I had done some fencing as a kid, so I figured 'why not' and just grabbed the biggest one. It's kept me alive ever since."

She ends with a shrug and he can tell she's uncomfortable having said so much.

"It's a Katana," Glenn offers, speaking for the first time since Rick had made his confession and laid down the new law.

"It's awesome," Carl adds, beaming up at Andrea from his prized position beside the woman. "We should all get swords and use them instead of guns."

"You'll just have to keep your eyes open for an abandoned dojo to arm us all," Andrea grins at the boy, giving his shoulders a squeeze.

She has yet to stop touching them, he notices, as if she's as disbelieving of having found them as they are at her being alive. Her left arm has held Carl since they all sat down and her right hand remains clasped in Carol's, the older woman having taken Andrea's other side.

"What's a dojo?" Carl turns to ask Glenn.

"It's just a name for a place where they teach martial arts," the young man answers on cue. "A Japanese term, which I would obviously know because I'm _Korean_."

The deprecating tone is all that's needed to make Rick flush in embarrassment at his son's thoughtlessly racist assumption that Glenn, the Asian, would be the only one able to answer the question. Before he can do more than think of apologizing, everyone laughs, including Glenn.

In that moment, Rick realizes that all the tension has magically gone from the group. Everyone's gathered together around the dying fire listening to Andrea's tale like it's a campfire story to pass the time on a routine camping trip.

He knows that no one has forgotten the horror of the day or their fears and reservations for the future, but _this_ is just more important. This is a rare opportunity to celebrate the fact that, for once, they had been proven wrong for the better.

Their belief that they could find Sophia alive had been ground to dust when the barn emptied for the undead girl to shamble out. His hope that Jenner had lied or just had had no idea what he spoke of had been proven false after stabbing Shane and having his corpse rise to give chase until shot down by Carl. All of Hershel's efforts to maintain his family's farm, to keep it as a haven for them all through this madness, had been laid to waste by the herd that they had fled.

But Andrea, whom they had so easily written off as gone, somehow is back and so vibrantly alive.

"How did you find us?"

He asks the question without really thinking and the moment of laughter fades to seriousness.

"I started out just running. No thought or direction; just taking any path that took me away from the thick of them. The woods helped me lose some as they fell over rocks, trees or roots; so I just kept to the trees."

"Weren't you scared of the dark?" Carl asks, cuddling closer to her side.

"Petrified," she confesses, "but it would have been scarier to stop. There was no hiding from them until they passed. It was like they had my scent and I just knew they wouldn't stop until they got me."

The mental picture is chilling and Rick's jaw clenches at her being put in that nightmarish scenario. He can tell it affects the others as well to imagine her in that position. Beth huddles closer to Hershel's side. Maggie slides her arm around Glenn's waist and props her chin on his shoulder as they keep their focus on the storyteller. Carol's hand tightens visibly around Andrea's in a silent offering of apology and support.

He can see a telltale tick of muscle in T-Dog's cheek and wishes he could blame all of this on the man. The guy had had seen the woman fall to the ground with Walkers surrounding her and her demise had seemed the obvious conclusion. His telling them that hadn't been a malicious or selfish act, he'd been mourning the loss when he'd said it. Also, it had been Rick who had taken the information and made the decision to stop Daryl from going back to search for the woman. There had just seemed no hope of her surviving or finding a way clear of the chaos.

Her presence is the most improbable of outcomes and Rick doesn't know when he'll be able to really accept that she _is_ alive and among them again. The relief is almost enough to distract him from his guilt.

_Almost._

"When the sun came up, I soon realized that I was in the woods we'd searched for Sophia," she gets on with the story, pausing briefly to give Carol's hand a squeeze back. "Some of the markers were still hanging on trees and something just clicked in my head. I remembered the grids," her eyes lift to lock with his, "I remembered your strategy and how it all led back to the road. I had no real idea if I was moving toward the highway or not, but it just _felt_ like the right direction and I knew you would have all gone there. That car, with our message to Sophia was the only one thing that we all knew, so it was the only place we all would have thought to go. When I met up with Michonne and explained she agreed. She'd been moving along the highway, seen the smoke of the barn burning and was heading toward the farm to investigate when our paths crossed."

"Damned bit of luck there," Daryl said softly, shaking his head as they all knew what would have happened without such a series of events leading to Michonne's arrival.

"We actually weren't far," Andrea acknowledges the interruption with a nod but keeps on without losing focus. "After all the running I'd been doing, it seemed to take no time at all for us to get to the road and find the car. When I saw that no one was there…"

For the first time since rejoining them, she wavers. Rick finds himself wishing that he had taken a seat at her side so that he could put his arm around her shoulders as Carol does. Immediately chasing that urge is a smack of guilt that pulls his eyes from the blonde to seek out Lori among the group.

She's off to herself, near Hershel but somehow apart from the group; huddled on the ground with her chin propped up on her up drawn knees as she watches their son interacting with the others. As if sensing his eyes upon her, she cuts a glance his way and he sees only more of the same fear and judgment she had shown before Andrea's return. When her gaze drops to the ground before returning to Carl, he's relieved to be receiving her version of the cold shoulder as long as it keeps him from her scrutiny. She's his wife and the mother of his children; theirs is a relationship he knows he has to mend, but just then he's too tired to even think of tackling those obstacles.

His attention returns to Andrea and he forces himself to stifle the growing voice within him that asks if he really _wants_ to overcome those hurdles.

"I saw Hershel's truck," the blonde resumes her story after taking in a deep, calming breath. "I knew that that meant some of you had made it to there," her glance touches upon Lori, Beth and T-Dog who had all fled the farm in the old blue Ford. "If you'd gotten there and left the vehicle, I assumed it meant you had found others here. I knew you'd gotten away," her eyes meet his and her lips twist wryly. "I had tried to flag you down, but you didn't hear me."

As killing blows went, those words are probably the most effective Rick has ever had said to him. She hadn't meant them with any cruelty, unlike some of the cutting comments Lori had made to him on her moodier days, but that fact somehow makes them hurt more. To know that he could have spared her the horror of her near miss by just hitting the damned brakes of that Chevy to give her a chance to catch up to the vehicle on the farm…

He has no idea how he can ever make such a thing up to her yet it's evident to him that she sees no need for amends.

"After I made sure that there was gas and it started, to be certain you hadn't just abandoned it for another car because it had broken down," she is explaining to T-Dog while Rick wrestles with his own guilt. "I convinced Michonne to come with me to find you."

"I made it very difficult for her," their newest member adds dryly. "She asked if I'd like to meet her friends and I got in the truck."

The comment brings back the distraction of laughter and he watches Andrea send the woman a grateful smile.

"I just turned the truck around, pointed us in a direction away from the farm and started driving. Until I rounded a curve and nearly plowed into Shane's Hyundai. Do you realize you left if parked in the middle of the road?" she asks suddenly, looking around for the culprit that had been driving the vehicle.

"That'd be more of our Chinaman's driving skills," Daryl snorts and leans forward to playfully nudge Glenn's shoulder.

"How could I have possibly known anyone else would be on the road tonight?" the young man asks, blushing at being called out on the deed.

"I'm glad it was there," Andrea soothes, giving her friend a smile. "All the other vehicles were so nice and neatly pulled over to park on the side of the road," she grins teasingly, "that I might have driven right on past without recognizing them. Even after slamming on the brakes to avoid collision with the car, I was still all ready to go around it and continue on until the headlights picked up the Chevy and then Daryl's motorcycle. It was the bike that really kind of sank in that I'd found you," she looks to the hunter and gets one of his nods of various meaning in return. "I just couldn't believe I'd found you at all let alone managed it within hours."

"It restores faith to have things so obviously happen for a reason," Hershel speaks up to say. "You very likely wouldn't have found us if we hadn't had to stop for the night. The Chevrolet is nearly empty on gas and the consensus was to make camp for the night rather than continue on or scavenge for gas."

"You may have a point there," she smiles at the old man. "The Ford has half a tank that you can siphon in the morning, so long as Michonne and I can hitch a ride."

"Done," Rick declares on a burst of unexpected laughter at the ways of fate.

Having gotten the cliff notes version of her escape from the farm, the group seems done with such conversation and turns to other topics. No mentions are made of those who had been lost with the farm and the word Walker doesn't arise again.

Rick watches and marvels at the scene.

Andrea continues to hold court; either telling some story to provide distraction or having one of the others vie for her attention with a joke or story of their own. It goes on for what seems like hours before they begin to fade from the extremes of the day.

Carl is sleeping soundly against the blonde's chest as she unconsciously rocks herself back and forth to soothe him.

Rick is reminded sharply of how she had held Amy's dying hand and stayed with her sister through death and turning to undead fiend. It makes him wonder briefly at how one with such maternal instincts could be childless, but discards it as the will of Fate. He didn't want to think what it would have been like for the woman to have had a child and lost it as Carol had Sophia. Amy's loss had pushed Andrea to the brink of opting out, he had no doubt that she would have gone mad with grief to have a son or daughter taken from her. Carl's getting shot had almost been more than Rick could bear; if he were to ever lose that boy he couldn't even fathom how he would react.

As if sensing the sudden intensity of his gaze upon them, Andrea's head lifts from it's study of Carl's sleeping face. Her eyes are questioning as they meet his across the fire and he forces his lips to curl in an imitation of a reassuring smile. She doesn't buy it, he can tell from the slight wrinkle of concern on her forehead, but she can't press the issue in their current circumstances so she lets her attention drop back to the boy she holds.

He forces his attention away from them; oddly affected once more by the sight of that blonde head bent so caringly over his son's dark head.

The others are all settling down on the cold, unforgiving ground with no blankets to cover themselves and no pillows for their heads and not one complaint is uttered. They have been without a bite of food or more than a sip of water for hours now, but no voice makes comment on the hunger or thirst they feel.

Somehow the miracle of Andrea's return has reminded each one of them that all the rest is minor.

Morning would come and with it the warmth of sunlight. Sunlight would give them illumination to hunt and scavenge in for something to eat and food to drink. With those basic needs met they would be able to move on in search of shelter to provide safety and a base for them to rebuild.

Rick feels the bubble of hope within himself, much like what he had felt earlier that day when he'd heard the familiar rumble of Daryl's motorcycle approaching on the highway. He doesn't know what any of it means or matters anymore, but they're all back together to sort it out.

That togetherness meant a great deal to him, despite his earlier declaration of a singular rule.

* * *

Quick notes: For anyone unfamiliar with the comics, Michonne's story of the Katana in this chapter is taken almost word for word from "Michonne's Story," a 6 page origin piece for her character that was published in the April '12 issue of Playboy and has since been scanned for sharing on several Walking Dead fansites.

WOW and thanks for the quick reviews to the posting of the first chapter. :) Got these while I was working on this part and just wanted to address each one.

Dani, I'm almost willing to bet one of my Daryl Dixon action figures that that truck was left behind on the highway as a deliberate move on the writers' part to give Andrea means of reuniting quickly with the group. It's just _the_ way I see it happening, so it's the way I wrote it in Left Behind and this and probably any additional Andrea-centered fics set after the finale. ;) Just makes sense to me.

OnlyOneZen, I'm right there with you. The idea of Andrea/Rick has been sleeping in my head since so many moments from the first season, but it took a conversation with a hat for my muses to jump up and say, OKAY, we're shipping this! I left the category on this as general, but it is, at the core, a romantic piece, so feel free to read it as such.

LillianMW, much thanks for the award and I will strive to honor the recognition. There's no way I can let this grow into a series like my ongoing Carol/Daryl WIPs, but I fully intend this to be a 3 chapter minimum. I really want to see this pairing grow in popularity, so don't think that this will be the only thing I'll write for Andrea/Rick. ;) The ideas for them are currently holding my Caryl muses hostage, so I have to write this story so I can get back to work on those stories so I can write another Andrea/Rick without feeling guilty. Does this pairing have a name meld yet? Can we pick it? Andrick? Ricrea? Suggestions?

SuperNeos2, hehe. This bug got in my brain because of the comics, but there's so much more complication and complexity to it all there. They don't even really address or acknowledge _this _until the 91st issue. Considering Andrea's been in the print series since the 3rd issue, all that happened in between there keeps me from being too into the idea of them _together_ in the comics, but the way they met on the show makes it such a great 'ship for this forum. I intend to try melding the two worlds and look forward to seeing what the writers do with it on the show.

katiescarlett78, there will be more. :D


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: It's 2am, so this chapter may be riddled with typos that you may need to overlook until I can edit this weekend. I've fortunately changed my work schedule so that I don't have to be up until 5:30am for work, so I can actually get a few hours' (haha) sleep before my alarm goes off. This series; this SHIP has just grown all the bigger in my head with my finally beginning to write them and I cannot seem to stop. Don't wanna go to bed, don't wanna go to work. This is JUST. LIKE. CARYL! What is it about The Walking Dead characters that compel me so?

This work is far from complete with 3 chapters. Dangit! I'm back to 4 WIPs in this fandom. :/

And I, too, vote for Andrick, but I think Kirkman has dubbed them Rickdrea because it has a slight femininity to it with the 'rea' ending where "Andrick" is kind of mannish. Thank you for that Kirkman tidbit, btw, LillianMW. :)

katiescarlett78, I would be all over that coup and assuming control of this show. On my TWD: Daryl would be featured in every episode with the angel wings vest - unbuttoned and gaping over his bare torso at least once every other episode. Carol would be safe from death with absolutely no fear of suicide by zombie and she'd so be *with* Daryl. Glenn would man-up again. Michonne would be her given her star status in the show, quickly moving in to fill some of Shane's void-and, yes, I feel there to be a definite void in the show without him. Carl would stop crying to Lori and be more like the comics. We'd actually start to learn something more of T-Dog and maybe have an episode where someone actually calls him "Theodore" to confirm that part of his character bio that names him Theodore Douglas so I could officially stop always writing him as "T-Dog" like he's some thug wannabe rapper. Andrea and Rick would have moments like *this.* Merle will reappear as the badass leader of some survival group; he'd try to kill Rick, make a move on Andrea cause he wants her, make a move on Carol to fuck with Daryl's head and then the Dixon brothers would engage in all-out battle with years of scars and abuse coming to the surface as Daryl beats his big bro to a snivelling mess because Merle went far too far by doing *anything* to make the group suffer. The prison will have more inmates/survivors than the comics to compensate for the fact that the core cast of the show to this point is so very much smaller than the group of survivors in the comics. Beth, (sorry!) still gets killed by Thomas because the show didn't give Hershel twin daughters like the comics and the psychopath still scars Andrea because I think that's a cool trademark of hers from the comics. And the whole prison time is reduced to maybe 5 episodes before the helicopter flies over, crashes and brings in the Governor. Then I'm out and just along for the ride like every other fan to see how the writers intend to handle THAT storyline conversion from the comics.

And if any of you haven't read the comics and think I've just unveiled a ton of spoilers for S3, fear not, the show has gone far and away from much of the comics so I'll be stunned if any of my wishlist (aka all the above of "my TWD") actually gets fleshed out on TV. But OMG, if it does, I'll know we have a mole.

theycallherdarling, I. Regret. NOTHING! :P I have no delusions of grandeur, but I wrote Caryl with Carol leaving the farm on the back of Daryl's motorcycle in "Moving On" and how did that scene play out in the season finale? (OMG, I went SO NUTS! over that scene, btw) So if by some chance there are any AMC folk who actually lurk around fansites for ideas and inspiration and liked that idea then I am determined that they will go for some Andrick in S3. :P 'Cause I'm gonna be shipping it like mad til October. ;)

* * *

"You should be sleeping," Rick says quietly without turning from his study of the dark woods outside the entryway he was guarding.

"I'm kind of amazed that I'm not," Andrea says, moving to lean against the other side of the stone entrance. "I was so exhausted from all that running that it was like moving in wet cement to take a single step, but now I can't even imagine trying to close my eyes. It just seems too likely that I'll open them and be back in those woods with that zombie tearing off my face," she gives him an awkward grin when his head snaps toward her at the comment. "It's a thought that kind of eliminates any desire to sleep."

"I can see how it would do that," he huffs out a small laugh at her tone.

The awkward grin becomes a full-fledged smile and his laughter is cut off by the knot that lodges in his throat. He clears it away with a small cough and looks back toward the dwindling fire.

"Lori couldn't sleep without him," his companion provides without prompting, illustrating how well the woman can read him. "He barely even stirred when I moved him."

"It was a bad day for him," his gaze finally lands on Carl's sleeping form, now on the ground with Lori curled around him.

"For all of us," she observes. "He's been through a lot and he'll go through more. He's one tough kid. Takes after his dad," she says it jokingly, but her eyes are sincere when he looks into them.

"I made so many mistakes today," he whispers, shaking his head once more with the wonder of being in her presence again.

"And you'll make more," she shivers at a sudden crisp breeze through the opening and hugs herself, tucking her bare hands inside her parka for warmth. "It doesn't change what a good man you are."

"Good men don't stab their best friends to death."

"Shane wasn't a bad guy, you were always right about that, but he wasn't your friend anymore. Dale saw it and tried to tell me, but I just couldn't imagine the guy endangering the group after all he'd done to protect us when we realized Atlanta had been lost. Shane did a lot of good in those days; managed to keep calm and order when we were all at our most disbelieving and horrified at what was happening." Her expression grows thoughful with memory. "He got us all focused and working together to make and protect that camp at the quarry. Despite all that, we all turned readily enough to your lead when you joined us. Before the herd came, Daryl and Glenn had just gotten back to the house. They'd found Randall. Shane had apparently taken him out in the woods and broken his neck; all to get you out there so he could kill you too, just like you'd said. He wouldn't have allowed it to end without someone dying. Does it make me a bad person to say better him than you?"

Speechless from the revelation he finds himself simply reacting to it. Taking her into his arms is the most natural thing in the world, but he tells himself it's only because she's so cold and his body heat is all he can offer.

She tucks her head in between them and he jumps at her cold nose against his neck at the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. Then she warms the spot with a soft exhalation of breath and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from reacting to that feeling.

They stand there like that for several minutes while his mind scrambles for distraction. He's thankful that she keeps her hands tucked into her parka, but part of him thinks how nice it would be to have her hugging him again.

His eyes are nearly desperate when they latch on Michonne standing guard in the opening of the other entrance; unnaturally still as she stares out into the clearing. He breathes a sigh of relief and leans back to get Andrea's attention back on discussion.

"What's her story?"

She goes further than he'd intended, following his gaze to the other woman then pulling completely from his arms.

"I really don't know. Not any more than she told us all tonight."

"You've always been a straight shooter with me, Andrea," he says with a hint of steel in his hushed tone. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't start lying to me now."

Her eyes widen in genuine shock before they dart away guiltily.

"I don't know what-"

"I saw that look the two of you shared earlier," he interrupts before she can insult them both by completing the evasion. "There was something you almost said but stopped after looking at her. Something you decided to keep secret. We've all learned the hard way how damaging secrets are to the group. I can't allow that woman in if she's hiding _anything_ that could endanger us."

"You think I'd bring her with me if that were even a possibility?" hurt fills those blue eyes as she fiercely whispers the question.

"You were put through the wringer today and that woman saved you," he returns just as fiercely, unwilling to back down at that wounded expression. "Your judgment on the matter could be a little biased. You said it yourself, in that moment, you had had no idea if your fate had just gotten better or worse. Something tells me the answer to that is still up to some debate and it'll help me make a decision on the matter if I know _everything_ you know."

She sees the determination in his gaze and inhales deeply before turning to stare across the distance at the woman under discussion. The slow release of her breath is visible in the crisp air as she looks back to him.

"It's not my secret to share," she holds up her hand when he immediately moves to call bullshit on her. "Just promise me you won't tell the others or let her know that you know. She didn't want it to affect the way the group would see her."

"What _it_?" he demands, looking suspiciously at Michonne.

"She's been alone this whole time, Rick," Andrea says, seeming to plead and explain with the words. "I can't imagine how she managed it without going crazier-"

"You brought a crazy woman with a sword to our group?" he hisses, barely keeping it from coming out an incredulous yell.

"I don't think she's crazy," she denies despite the obvious implications of her use of a word like 'crazier.' "Ok, maybe crazy by the old standard, but we've all done things since the world changed that would have seen us put a loony bin before. She's survived in the most horrific conditions and we should all respect her for that. _I_ respect her for that."

"Could you maybe get to whatever it is you're tiptoeing around so that I can get on the same page?"

"She had Walkers," she practically just breathes it in a rush he can barely make out.

"What?" he shifts closer, moving to bend his head over hers.

"She had Walkers," she repeats, turning her face until their mouths are in serious danger of touching. "She had then on chains like pets. Her boyfriend and his best friend, from what she said. She'd hacked their arms off and torn away their jaws so they couldn't hurt her. She said having them kept the others away and I saw it work, just like your idea in Atlanta to cover your smell with the insides of that Walker. I really don't think she kept them for that reason, though, more like she just discovered it worked somewhere along the way. I think she just couldn't stand to be left alone. She had no one else at that point and when they died…I feel bad for her."

He absorbs and considers the words, turning to look toward Michonne and away from the tempting warmth of Andrea's breath and the glisten of saliva on lips she alternately licks and nibbles with nerves at the confession.

"That it?" he asks, looking at her with his peripheral vision to try and catch her in any automatic and guilty physical maneuvers to conceal further secrets.

The question eases her tension rather than causing any more and he knows she's shed herself of any burden that had been placed on her in meeting the other woman. He doesn't need her to give further answer, but is glad she does.

"That was all. I was actually kind of upset when she killed them-"

"She _killed_ them?" he turns back to the blonde.

"I know, right?" Andrea huffs out a disbelieving little laugh. "I reacted the same way. It was a shocking sight to see them trailing behind her, but I got used to them being there in the time it took us to get to the road. They were quiet and docile and we passed countless strays from that herd with none of them bothered us as long as we kept our steps slow and had those two with us. It was so terrifying to just walk among those things like they hadn't killed so many people I loved, but it was oddly fascinating too."

Rick gives her a crooked grin and nods, remembering how it had felt to stagger among the Walkers in the streets of Atlanta, covered in blood, guts and bone in an attempt to blend in. He still couldn't believe that that plan of his had actually worked.

"I never did tell Lori or Carl about that man," he muses aloud. "Hell, I can't even remember his name now."

"It was Wayne," she supplies softly, with him every step of the way as his mind wandered from the present. "He had twenty-eight dollars in his pocket and a picture of a pretty girl."

He vaguely remembers the words as she quotes them back to him and he looks at her with an amazement he couldn't hide.

"You remember that?"

"That's what you wanted; to make us all see the guy as more than a dead zombie and remember how little separates us from them. I think it was the way you then proceeded to hack him open with an axe then tear out his insides to spread all over you that really kind of seared the memory in my mind."

Her eyes twinkle with humor at the words and he laughs softly in response to her sarcasm, but he senses a grain of truth beneath the surface. Her mind has proven itself to be a steel trap on many occasions and he has little doubt that could recall any detail, big or small, from throughout their acquaintance.

The knowledge scares the crap out of him as equally as it fascinates and comforts.

They fall silent with the fading levity, but it's oddly peaceful to just stand there in the shadows with her. He begins to think of how little time they had actually known one another, just a few months now; yet they _knew_ things about each other that would have taken a lifetime to learn _before._

He had known Shane his whole life; loved and trusted the man after years of childhood mishaps and adventures and he'd tried to tell himself that the end of the world hadn't changed that, but he'd been wrong. As he gives Andrea a secret, sideways glance as she tips back her head to blow circles with her breath at the moon and knows he'll never have to worry about her turning on him like that.

"You and Shane," he begins, feeling a sudden need for apology and further absolution as she seemed the only one offering him understanding this night. "I-"

"Can we consider this horse beaten to a pulp that most certainly will not rise again?" she interrupts with a sigh, dropping her head forward. "I told you before that he was a friend; someone I talked to and, yes, I cared for him as much as I care for everyone in the group. The closeness you persist in seeing in having been between us wasn't what your romantic heart imagines. If I have to be crude or blunt to get it through that thick skull of yours then allow me to offer this very last statement on the matter," she inhales then exhales slowly before turning to stare him dead in the eye. "Shane and I had sex. It was one time to blow off tension after a near miss in that suburb looking for Sophia and I don't regret it, but it only happened because I've been without my vibrator for six months and even if I could have found one, we can't spare the batteries on something so selfish. We both needed a release and the best outlet was with one another. Ok?"

Rick can feel his cheeks heating at the brazen words and he laughs awkwardly; mind jumping over most of what she revealed like hot coals until he finds some relatively safe point to latch onto.

"My _'romantic heart,'_" he snorts and she chuckles against her will at his obvious diversion.

"You can try and deny it, but reality will prove me right," her amusement dims and an oddly serious glint enters her eyes before she turns away. "You chased your high school sweetheart all the way to college until she'd been sufficiently wooed to marry you. You escaped death and somehow woke from your coma to fight all the way back to her; never believing that you wouldn't find your wife and son. And you're by her side still, loving and faithful, accepting her pregnancy despite…"

"Despite the fact that it's probably his?" he finishes when she blushes and grinds to a halt.

"I'm sorry," she turns to touch his arm to help convey the regret on her face. "That was completely overstepping and I never should have said-"

"What everyone's thinking? Saying behind my back? I already know," he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze before removing it from his arm. "I know it's not mine. The timing just doesn't add up right given how things were between us before I got shot and how long I've been back. I'm not an idiot. Am I supposed to hate or condemn her for seeking comfort when she thought I was dead? From doing just what you've said you did; needing a release and finding it with Shane? I can't do it. We've been having our problems for a while now, but she's my wife. I made those vows and I meant them. I'll keep them," _whether I really want to anymore or not._

"I know you will," she smiles, looking wistful. "It's that romantic heart. Told you I was right," she jokes weakly, avoiding eye contact and tucking her rejected hand back inside her parka.

The peace between them is shattered and he mourns the loss of it; kicks himself for not picking a different topic than the man that had screwed both _his_ women.

_Shit_, he thinks, closing his eyes and mentally beating his head against a wall at _that_ thought.

Andrea was not, is not; would not and _could not_ be _**his**_ woman.

"I think I'll try and get some rest now," she says, moving slowly away from him.

His eyes snap open before she's taken more than two steps and his heart races with the knowledge that he can't let it end like this. When the sun rises, this whole day and night will be gone; the events to be forced to their past so they could find a way forward. With all the shit of the past twenty-four hours that he has to force to the back of his mind, he can't stop himself from wanting and reaching for one damned bit of good.

"Andrea," he grabs her elbow and moves to stand behind her when she stops. "I…" a thousand thoughts race to be spoken and he should feel free to voice them as she stays facing away from him, but he freezes.

Her head turns slowly as the seconds grow to minutes without him saying anything more. Her gaze is so damned sympathetic with just a hint of unconcealed _want_ that he drops his forehead to her back to escape those eyes.

"I can't do this."

"I know," she whispers it and he hears the catch in her voice that he probably should have recognized in some of their previous conversations. "I've known since I met you."

With that, she slips a hand from her parka to place over his on her elbow. She gives it a gentle squeeze then carefully detaches his hold on her and drops his hand as he had done hers moments ago.

He stares down at his dangling fingers; wondering if she had felt as stabbed by the rebuff as he does while she begins to walk away without another word to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Rick finds no absolution or resolution in the waning hours of night.

Staring out into the darkness from his solitary position at the entrance just leaves him cold and tired; without hope for a single answer to any of the countless thoughts in his head.

He turns to survey the group as he'd been doing often in the time since Andrea had left him. Her head is visible on the ground near the others, but not really _with_ any of them. She's been lying still for the past hour, near as he could tell, but he wonders if she's sleeping. He wonders if fear of nightmares is keeping her from slumber as she had confessed when she sought him out earlier or if her stillness meant she had actually found rest.

Only he and the stranger remain awake in rebellion at the long day and late hour.

He's not sure what to make of this woman, but with conditions as they were in this world one got to learn another quickly. She was clearly strong and resilient; fast and smart. She had kept herself detached from the group during the campfire stories, but hadn't shown any signs of malice toward them. She'd been reasonably hesitant to trust a bunch of strangers after having been on her own for so long.

Rick could only wonder at how she must feel to be without the imagined security of her zombie companions. Another thing he could find no fault in; her keeping of the creatures. Whether Andrea was right about Michonne having had a sentimental attachment to the people the Walkers had once been or whether the woman had just kept them to deter other zombies, it had been quick thinking for her to subdue them as Andrea had described.

On top of everything else, he isn't sure how to add a new member in their ranks. He'd killed Dave and Tony; held Randall hostage; his trust in the basic goodness of people is sorely lacking. Morgan then Glenn had saved his life; they'd gotten lucky in their encounters with Guillermo and Hershel, but there was no way of knowing how many good people remained.

The possibilities are just more things to consume his energies and he knows he needs to try for some sleep to manage the coming day.

He pushes away from his station in the doorway to quietly cross the space to the other entrance where the woman stood her own guard. No matter how he tried to creep, she still turns to watch him approach, as if she had heard him coming from a mile away.

It makes him grin for some reason, not sure which of them amuses him more in his sleep deprived state.

"You should try getting some sleep," he offers first, always the gentleman his mother raised him to be.

"I sleep better when I have protection on all sides," she shrugs aside the offer of relief from watch.

Part of him thinks he shouldn't trust the safety of the group to this newcomer, but she had already saved Andrea and that made the larger part of him trust her implicitly.

"I think I'll try for some myself," she nods in both acceptance and permission, as if he had been seeking either. "Wake me in an hour or so. We shouldn't wait until too longer after sunrise to get moving."

He gets another nod and gives one in return. If she had been longer with the group, he would have clasped her shoulder in silent thanks for volunteering herself for the remainder of the lonely vigil, but he didn't want to push or test her comfort level with such things. He offers a weak smile instead and moves away from her to the huddle of sleeping forms around the fire that had burnt to all but embers.

The groupings are no real surprise. Maggie lay curled in Glenn's arms; Carol near Daryl, but the two shared no intimate embrace. Beth is safe in her father's arms and Carl in Lori's.

Rick's place was with his family; always with his family, but he can't bring himself to spoon in behind his wife at that moment. Too often of late she's given him no welcome in return for such gestures; no stirring in her sleep to touch or turn toward him as she had in times past. For what remains of this night he finds himself preferring to lie down alone, like Andrea and T-Dog, rather than insert himself like some third wheel.

He ends up finding space near the blonde; tells himself its only because that's the largest space available for him to stretch out.

It has nothing to do with his want to know if she truly slept. As he steps carefully over her feet as they curled out into his path, he can see that her features are slack and her breathing even. She's huddled in on herself for warmth without the fire or another body to provide any heat. Curls of hair have escaped her ponytail to hang over her face, shifting with each rhythmic move of her breath, visibly tickling her nostrils. His fingers itch to brush the strands back to keep anything from disturbing her sleep, but he has no rights to such intimacy and cannot for that.

He forces his steps past her to the grassy ground nearby. He deliberately settles with his back to her; focusing on the empty space around them within the ruins of the millhouse. No matter the turmoil within him and the discomfort of their conditions; Rick finds his eyes closing to dark oblivion in moments.


	5. Chapter 5

It isn't Michonne's hand on his shoulder shaking him awake that actually wakes Rick from his rest. It's the sound of her voice; unfamiliar and animated as it breaks through his sleep to jar him awake.

He cracks his eyes open and rolls over until he locates her. She's sitting on a fallen log next to T-Dog talking…._football? _ He pushes himself up to a sitting position, rubbing the grit from his eyes as his aging body protests the cold, hard ground it had been forced to endure.

"I asked to be woken in an hour," he tries not to growl as he sees that dawn has already broken.

The woman looks up from her unlikely discussion of the Falcons' defensive line and weaknesses therein in their last season.

"Must have forgotten my watch somewhere," she grins, holding up her bare wrists. "Figured you could use the extra rest. The quiet one left with his bow just before dawn. I assumed you all would prefer to wait for his return, especially since he promised to scrounge up something to eat."

"How long's he been gone?" he asks, rising to stretch out the kinks in his muscles.

"Bout an hour."

He stops with his arms in mid-extension over his head as he arched backward. She meets his gaze with an unrepentant smirk at the roundabout admission that she could easily gauge the passage of time without a clock. He huffs out a laugh and completes his stretch while she resumes her conversation with Theodore.

The group seems to all be awake before him and a shaft of panic goes through him when he fails to see his son.

"Carl," he calls out, his tone sharp and louder than he cares for in this unfamiliar place.

"They're fine," Andrea assures him nearby. "We've been keeping busy," she deposits an armload of sticks next to the fire Glenn is working to re-ignite. "They're nearby; gathering more wood, seeing if there's anything edible in the greenery."

"Any idea where Daryl went?"

"Direction wise, no, but I'm sure he'll be back shortly. No one imagines this to be any kind of new home for us. It just seemed a good idea to take an extra breather before we move on. Considering that we've no idea where to move on to."

He waits for a push for answer on that matter or a demand to open it for discussion, but she does neither. She brushes her emptied hands on the seat of her jeans then pulls them away to stare at her palms in disgust as they come away dirtier than they had been. A sigh escapes her as she drops her arms back at her sides and returns her focus to him.

"We should probably gas up the Chevy to be ready to go after eating."

She turns to begin in that direction, moving with a purpose that he senses is deeper than her stated objective. He follows her after only a momentary mental debate as to whether he's prepared for whatever she may have to say in daylight about their almost moment in the darkness.

They move quietly together through the clearing to the overgrown ruts in the ground that had once served as an access road to the fallen mill. The morning mist is lifting, but the sun has yet to take the chill from the air and their breaths form little puffs in front of them as they walk.

He thinks of her in the darkness of last night, head tilted back in a rare show of whimsy as she blew those 'smoke' rings at the moon and he kicks himself for not just taking hold of her and kissing her lips in that secret moment.

For once, it isn't concern for the damage it would do to his marriage to give in to such an impulse; he honestly doesn't know at this point if Lori is still with him for there to be anything left to damage. Fear of destroying what he has with Andrea, incomplete as it is, keeps his focus on the path ahead and away from the movement of her denim clad hips as they swivel with her walk.

Rick had been made to believe he'd lost her once already and he couldn't go through it again; can't lose her to death or a love affair doomed to failure with the complications abounding.

His head is getting out of the game and he needs to get it back on track quickly because he had just taken the leadership they'd forced upon him and assumed it as his right and sole responsibility. He has to focus on the survival of the whole group; things like finding food, water, shelter and warmer clothing. He can't keep allowing his thoughts to return to the errors he'd made the day before and all the things he wishes he could do to make up for the mistakes that had so affected this one woman.

"I have a surprise for you," Andrea announces with a smile as they arrive at the parked vehicles all too quickly. "It isn't much but…"

She completes the sentence with action; opening the passenger door to the blue Ford, grabbing something from the seat and then turning to present him with her surprise. He stares at the brown duffel in her hands, feeling sucker punched and dizzy from the blow.

"There isn't much left in it," she explains as he leaves her holding the bag without making move to take it from her. "I'm hoping we've still got most of the ammunition in the Hyundai, but then I guess we really went through it facing that herd. It's still better than nothi-"

He cuts her off by knocking the bag aside to hug her to him. Shame rides him hardest as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and draws ragged breaths in an effort to find some control of himself.

"I just couldn't let go of it," she whispers, breaking the floodgate within him with the words and the gentle way her arms embrace him; her hands stroking soothingly over his back.

"I devoted weeks to searching for a little girl that was already dead," he chokes out against her shoulder, "but I wouldn't allow Daryl any time to go back. He wanted to and I could have – _should have_ let him, to confirm for us all that you were dead or alive, but I _stopped_ him. We all left you there yet you couldn't leave without my duffle bag?" he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting as emotionally as he felt. "We should have-"

"No, Rick," she pulls back to put her hand to his clenched jaw, thumb stroking over the muscle that ticked at her touch. "It would have been foolish for anyone to have come looking for me. Don't ever regret not coming back. I will admit, though," wry humor glints in her eyes as she drops her hand from his cheek, "it would have been nice if you had stopped to let me in before you left the farm."

"How are they going to follow any order I give after this?" he asks, removing himself from the temptation of her touch to go brace his hands on the hood of the truck. "They were questioning everything last night and here you are as living proof of my failed choices."

"Should I disappear?" she huffs, making him realize what a selfish ass he sounded like. "I thought you were glad I-"

"I am," he stops her with a sharp glance, showing more than he should as their eyes meet. "I can't begin to tell you what it means to see you in the daylight and know it wasn't some dream. I just … it's almost more than I can handle."

Feeling weak and cowardly, he turns away to drop his head forward in silence.

"That day in the quarry when Amy and I were fishing together, we realized that our parents were probably gone in all of this," she moves to stand beside him, putting the duffel on the hood of the truck. "It was one of the scariest, most painful moments we'd had up to that point because we'd managed to survive together and then just kept so much focus on our survival that we didn't _allow _thoughts of them in. But we were reminiscing about fishing with dad and using the past tense and realizing there was little chance that they still lived. Hours later I lost _her_, the whole horrific event happening right before my eyes with me not able to do anything but cry and scream. I felt so _alone_ and lost and scared after that that Jenner's offer to just 'opt-out' of all of _this_ seemed like a blessing. Then Dale wouldn't let me die and so we got out of Atlanta. I moped and I hated life and I was miserable to be around, I know that. Then I got over it. Grew up. You trusted Carl into my care; the protection of the group into my care and I took it seriously. That support after the weakness I'd shown-"

"It's not weak to be afraid, it's sane," he interrupts because this is something he's confessed to no other and the moment seemed to be about such admissions. "Before I got into that tank in Atlanta, I was pinned underneath it with those things coming at me from every angle. I shot the ones in front, but it wasn't enough to keep them from coming and the Colt only holds so many rounds. Reloading wasn't a possibility, so when the count got down to a single shot left I put that barrel to my head and readied my finger on the trigger. I said my apologies to Carl and Lori for failing to find them and I was closer to that verge than I will ever admit to anyone else," their eyes lock as he demands her secrecy and receives her promise without hesitation. "By some…miracle, I happened to look up at that moment to see the hatch open right above me so I could climb up into the tank; which I did on pure instinct and adrenalin. Having been there myself, I prefer to think that those of us who've flirted with suicide are far stronger and prepared to face the horrors of this world. I don't know that I can fully trust anyone who's just fallen into this new world and adapted without considering_ all_ other possibilities."

She absorbs the words quietly, her hand rising as if to touch him in consolation or support only to drop again without any contact between them.

"The time at the farm made me strong," she picks up the threads of her own thoughts after a few moments. "Dale and Shane and you all helped me become this strong, capable woman; even more so than I had foolishly thought myself to be in the life I'd had before all this. Aside from my mistake in shooting Daryl, I liked that me a lot better than I had any other version of myself. When the farm was lost and I realized all the vehicles for escape were gone; that all of _you_ were gone, I became the scared one again and I hated it. I didn't stop running or wanting to live, but I don't want to think about what I would have done without Michonne's intervention."

_Neither do I_, he thinks, eyes darting away in hopes that she won't see **that** thought in his gaze.

"Even with her, I could only think how alone I was without you…without the group," she corrects, but too late to overwrite the knowledge instilled in him by her original wording. "You're all the only things that I have left to remind me of what I can be and why I have a reason to try. You're all that keeps me from being truly alone. Run this group how you see fit, Rick," she turns to meet his gaze with strong, unblinking eyes. "Give any orders you need to and choose whatever path looks best for us. If it scares me or the others, then so what? I'd still follow you straight into hell," her hand returns to his jaw, thumb rasping over his growing beard, "because I know you won't stop until you've seen us through the fire."

Her unshaken faith, despite all the evidence to the contrary of her passionate words, leaves him speechless.

Her fingers flex to tighten on his cheek, holding his head still for the sudden press of her mouth to his and just like that he's left incapable of thought.

* * *

A/N: Andrea's closing statements are paraphrased from the comics, issue #68, because I absolutely loved that moment in books.


	6. Chapter 6

Her lips are dry and chapped from lack of water, but Rick doesn't care as they're soft, warm and so welcoming against his own.

It starts as closed mouths in light, hesitant contact, but he can't seem to accept that. Once the surprise passes and realization settles that she has made the first move, he reacts before she can change her mind.

Damned either way as he sees it, he slides his hands to her neck; fingers slipping into her hair as he holds her head steady.

Andrea gasps against his lips, her body going suspiciously still. He senses in her the sudden want to pull away from him and can't allow it. He turns her back to the barrier of the pickup to eliminate an escape route and opens his mouth over hers.

His eyes are closed, because that's how he kissed and also because he didn't think he could watch_ this_ and keep any grip on himself. He senses that her eyes are open and on him though as her hands rise to settle on his shoulders.

He tenses, knowing he'll back away if she should push; needing to respect whatever boundaries she put on this because he has no right to push for more given his situation. He feels a tremor in her arms; a sign of her own internal debate as she struggles with what she should and wants to do.

Stopping this is what they each know they should do; never having done it would have been better, but it's not what either of them wants.

An exhalation of breath shudders from her nostrils and her body softens against him. Her hands curl over the ball of his shoulders to grip his back and pull him closer. The decision is made, choice evident, and he offers silent, selfish thanks when she kisses him back. He has no idea what really caused her to initiate the contact, but need quickly took over on his end.

He needs the warmth inside her mouth to fight the morning chill; needs the slickness of her tongue to combat the dryness of his mouth from lack of water. He needs that little sound she makes as his fingers twist in her hair, undoing her ponytail to get all those soft curls falling over them. He needs the soft cradle she gives by parting her legs for his thigh to wedge between them as he presses his hardening groin to her hip. He needs that desperate curl of her fingers into his back; the pull of her hands that gives him silent permission to kiss harder, hold tighter.

He breaks away to gasp for breath as he realizes that he _needs_ inside her to prove that they're both still alive and truly there _together_.

The idea is impossible. Daylight is spreading, allow of the group is awake and wandering this area; Lori and Carl could easily stumble upon this scene, but his body wanted it so badly that his mind can't think of a reason strong enough to stop.

"Rick," Andrea breathes out, staring at him with her eyes wide. "What are we-"

Again, if there had been anything about her that rejected him or _this_ he would have ended it, but he sees the same want and need in her gaze that he feels, mixed with the same confusion and turmoil.

Hoping to silence both their consciences before they can give voice to the many reasons why they couldn't or shouldn't continue, he puts his lips back to hers and they meet him hungrily.

Her arms wrap around his shoulders, one hand sliding up to slide through his hair before tangling in the short strands to hold his head tightly to hers. He moves a hand to her hip, gripping compulsively to draw her into the grind of his groin against her.

Her stance widens further and this time he wedges his hips into the opening to press against her as intimately as their clothing allows.

The contact sears him despite the layers between them and his hands clench at her. Her fingers contract sharply in the moment, digging into his scalp and shirt.

She throws her head back to gasp out his name in equal parts want and disbelief. The sound of it makes him groan as he puts his mouth to the exposed arch of her neck and shifts his hand to her thigh to help her in lifting the leg she was wrapping around him.

Neither of them hears the subtle whistle or throat clearing that tries to break them apart before Daryl finally gives up and hisses out a, "Hey," that freezes Rick's blood and body. Andrea goes deathly still for a moment before dropping her head forward to look past his shoulder. Whatever she sees spurs her into action to tear himself from his grasp and he drops head forward to thud against the hood of the truck without turning to confirm their interruption.

He listens to her stammer out half-formed apologies and explanations; wondering only how many of the group are with the hunter. When she grinds to a halt and he feels her eyes touch desperately upon him, he can only lift his head to meet her gaze with a helpless expression on his own face. He's as lost for justification as she is, but he can find no regret within him at the moments past, only at the loss of what had been disrupted. He wishes he had the right to order the rest of the world away for them to be alone again, but Daryl was probably tight to break the moment up. No matter how easily he had forgotten in the rush of want and need for _this_ woman, he remains a married man with a pregant Lori to consider and protect.

She sees _that _regret in his eyes and he watches her expression soften from panicked to shared loss of something rare and wanted.

"Rick," she breathes, lifting her hand toward him as if she's forgotten their audience.

"Got some squirrel and rabbit cooking back at camp," Daryl says, moving quietly to stand near the woman's side in a position where Rick cannot deny the other man's presence. "Go eat your fill," he nudges the blonde to knock her out of the intimate moment. "You need it after the day you had."

She looks like she might argue the instruction; but seeing the underlying order in the words and reasoning behind them, she nods and tucks her hands into the pockets of her parka before walking slowly away.

Rick turns to watch her leave, smiling reassurance when she glances back worriedly at the two men before she follows the bend in the road that takes her from their sight. He has no worries about being alone with Daryl; the man has never been much of a threat to him and he senses no malicious intent in this maneuver for a moment of privacy.

Daryl Dixon wasn't like his brother Merle and he certainly isn't Shane Walsh; Rick had come to trust the redneck somewhere along the way in that department store in Atlanta.

"I've got no moral opposition to your getting your rocks off," the other man begins, settling back against the Ford beside him, "but that girl's been through hell. If you're looking to get back at your wife-"

He feels pure fury at the implication and acts on it. Despite his thoughts that no violence would occur between them, he surprises himself by going for the man's throat. Daryl shows no surprise when he finds himself suddenly bent back over the hood of the truck with a forearm pressing across his windpipe.

"Never," he rasps, staring into the other man's unflinching blue eyes. "I would _never_ use her. Never do anything so juvenile."

Daryl studies him for a calm moment, like he isn't having trouble drawing breath in his awkward position. Eventually, he slowly nods his head and Rick backs off, pacing away to scrub his hands over his tousled hair.

"I just…we were…," he begins to flounder just as Andrea had. "Shit."

He gives up trying to speak and stops his pacing to brace his hands on his knees and drop his head forward in self-disgust and some despair.

"I don't know what to do."

He feels he can say it to this man without being judged harshly, just as he knew he could reveal vulnerability to Andrea.

"Hate to say it, Hoss, but you need to leave that one alone til you figure it out," something in Daryl's tone makes him straighten to study the other man sharply. "Not interested in poaching," the redneck grins at the jealous suspicion Rick is sure he shows with the look. "Got enough troubles without adding a female to the mix. I seen the way Andrea's looked at you; the way she changed since you joined us. Been as hard for her to watch you with your wife as it was for Shane to watch Lori with you. Real fucking soap opera you brought us with that," the man shakes his head with obvious disgust at such human frailty. "Got no time for it now and this is no place. She's a strong gal and she's held up well under the strain of temptation. Don't rush her fences when you can't mend them."

Silence falls heavy between them as he's forced to accept the truth of Daryl's reason. The redneck is a man of few words, so when he spoke that many at once Rick could do nothing but agree.

He finds himself wanting to ask the man for advice, but wonders just how much, if any, actual experience this one had with women. He'd spent a lifetime listening to Shane's exploits whether he wanted to hear the stories or not. Something tells him he'd have to pry hard and risk their alliance if he wanted to get anything so personal from Daryl's past.

"You should head back and eat, too," the man claps him on the back, indicating all is currently well between them. "I'll gas this bitch up then meet you back there. Got a surprise for everyone," he grins boyishly before turning to his self-assigned chore.

Rick watches for a moment as the other man quickly locates the gas can and piece of hose in the Hyundai before moving to the gas tank of the Ford. He tells himself that he's relieved to have no further discussion on the topic of Andrea, but still he hesitates to leave.

"Can't beat you up anymore than you do yourself," Daryl senses him lingering and looks up after starting the draw to siphon the gas from the Ford into the red can. "You hurt her, then I'll kick your ass. Till then, git."

He chokes on a laugh at the words, not doubting that the man would put action to the threat if pressed.

As he obeys the order and heads back to the group the levity fades and his steps grow heavy as he tries to imagine any scenario in which Andrea didn't get hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: GBX, all, sorry for the delay. I had wanted to get this continued earlier, but kept running into snags for the transition from one location to the other.

I have ideas for the story inside the prison, but I didn't originally plan for this series to go that far, so I never gave any thought to how it would/could/should move from the ruins to the prison. This is just the on-ramp to that particular bridge.

* * *

Breakfast is still a somehow relaxed experience, which Rick is grateful for given the distracted condition of his thoughts.

Food in the belly, an interesting newcomer, Daryl's promise of a surprise and Andrea's presence all help to keep the worst of the tension out of the atmosphere.

Carl is also excited over a lake they'd found while walking.

"This big fish just jumped up out of the water to catch a bug. It was so cool. You and Amy probably could've caught a truckload of fish," the boy said to Andrea causing Rick's appetite to falter.

As his hand slowly lowers with a bite of squirrel in it, his gaze catches the wince the blonde isn't able to stifle. Carl realizes his mistake before Rick can scold him as the survivors from the quarry go still and look uncomfortably toward Andrea.

"Sorry," his son's head drops after a dismayed look at the woman. "I didn't-"

"You didn't say anything wrong," Andrea stops him with an odd twist to her lips. "You're right, it sounds like a good fishing hole."

She reaches out a hand to affectionately squeeze the boy's shoulder before she tosses aside the last of her breakfast and rises.

"We should probably get moving."

They're already rising to follow her example without the words. Her resilience impresses him as always and he reaches out to brush her arm as he moves past. Her eyes lift but skitter away from his and he can't exactly blame her for shying away from contact.

His tongue is thick with the want to say something of meaning or good to her, but he draws a blank. He follows her gaze to where it landed and has to bite that same tongue to keep in his curse.

It was impossible for him to forget Lori, but in his concern for Andrea he's amazed to realize that he hadn't thought of his wife first. Despite her brave façade, the blonde had been hurt by Carl's thoughtless reminder of Amy and the fish fry that had been the sisters' last time together; alive, together.

Rick's only thought had been to reach out and comfort _her. _To give her some show of support to let her know he saw when she hurt and would be there to bolster her in those moments when she faltered.

His gaze lands on his wife, though, and he is reminded that he can't make such promises to another woman. He's already made them to Lori and has to keep them; for better or worse.

Andrea's eyes shift back to him and he knows the moment she reads his mind because of the way her lips twist in a pained grimace before she looks away. He wants to turn to her and try to explain, but what excuses could he offer? She moves away and he lets her because there's nothing else to do.

He draws a deep breath and crosses the short distance to his wife's side.

"Is she mad at me?" Carl asks as soon as he stands with his family. "I didn't mean anything, I just -"

"I know," Rick smiles and scruffs his son's hair in a reassuring manner. "She's not mad. Why don't you go keep her company?"

The kid didn't need any extra encouragement to dart off after the blonde, slowing in his approach when he saw that she was talking to Michonne. He hesitates at the stranger and looks back to his parents for reassurance. Rick gives another smile and nods his okay for the boy to get closer to the newcomer in their group.

"Should we be trusting her this easily?"

Lori's hand on his arm is a surprise and he turns toward her rather sharply at the touch. Her words are slower to sink in and he stifles a sigh once they process in his mind.

"She saved Andrea's life and watched over us all while we slept last night," he moves to touch her shoulder in a habitual touch of comfort and reassurance, but she flinches away from him yet again. "I trust her."

It sounds lame even to his ears, but he has nothing else to offer as his hand drops back down to his side.

"Carl's happy to have her back," Lori watches her son closely while wrapping her arms around her waist to close her body off from him in a very loud piece of body language. "It's distracting him from Shane, at least."

Rick isn't in the mood to wander into that particular minefield this early in the day, so he looks away from her to watch Andrea drawing Carl into conversation with Michonne. The woman shifts the katana on her hip and squats down to the boy's level to talk to him. It's the move of someone familiar with children and seeing it easy some of the tension Rick felt in wondering how the stranger would adapt to the group. If she passed the Carl test, she was a definite keeper.

As if sensing the attention, Andrea gives him a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes look over the woman talking to Carl and the boy listening solemnly to whatever Michonne is saying then she gives a smile that seems the equivalent of a thumbs up. He nods and grins back, letting her know the scene has his seal of approval as well.

"Carl isn't the only one thrilled to have her back."

Something in Lori's quiet tone wipes the smile from his face and Rick reluctantly returns his attention to her.

"We all needed something good to come out of everything that happened at the farm. Andrea surviving and finding us...it's practically a miracle."

She looks at him in that way that only a wife can; a look that says more clearly than words that she sees through the steam of his words to the fresh pile of bullshit they tried to cover. He isn't sure what he's revealed or how, but the suspicion in her gaze causes the muscle in his cheek to twitch.

In the past she'd accused him of tiring of her or straying in one of her many attempts to draw him into a fight for some reason, but he'd always ignored it because he'd never considered another woman besides Lori in his life.

He ignores the bait again this time; sensing they'd open a major vein if he got into such a discussion with her and this wasn't the time for it. They were in full view of the group and he didn't want things to get ugly with Lori turning on Andrea or Andrea feeling at fault for the marital problems.

Before he can try to achieve any kind of calm with her, Daryl interrupts and Rick could have hugged the man for coming up when he did.

"Figure we'll drive up the road a bit then walk in so we don't have to double back."

Rick nods at the simple logic of it, not feeling a need to question the other man.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Lori reaches out to stop Daryl from walking away; drops her hand without touching the man when he turns back to her.

"Up the road a bit," he repeats. "Ain't much of a surprise if I tell you more than that now, is it?"

There's a quirk to his mouth that keeps the words from being too harsh and Lori actually grins back at the man before she waves him to lead them on their way.

The group falls in together to begin walking the short distance back to the vehicles.

Out of habit, they all take a moment to look over the ruins that had sheltered them through the night; checking to make sure nothing has been left behind, but they're quickly reminded that they didn't have anything _to_ leave behind here.

The need to get someplace safe and warm; find food and clothing, settles heavily over them as they leave the place behind them.

Rick finds himself walking beside Andrea and can't say whether one of them deliberately hang back to be with the other or if they just naturally synced up like that. If he were pressed to guess, he'd say it was most likely a bit of both.

"I hope Carl didn't upset you there," he says because he'd wanted to apologize since his son spoke Amy's name.

"He didn't. It's just soon long since anyone said her name that I…" she bites her lip for a moment to hide its quiver. "I don't ever want to forget her. We've all lost so many people and no matter how much it hurts to think of that loss, pretending like they'd never been a part of our lives would be worse. I'm glad he has good memories of her."

"I don't think many of us have much taste for fish these days."

"Maybe not," her lips twist into a wry smile that looks more like a grimace. "We can't afford to overlook a viable food source, though. The Walkers eat any mammal that they can get their hands and teeth on; fish may be the only thing we can rely on without challenge. Unless the zombies start to swim."

They share a smile over that imagery as they arrive at the cars.

The duffle bag is moved from the hood of the Ford and Rick's eyes immediately dart to Daryl's in askance of the bag's location.

"Put it in the Chevy," the other man had no trouble picking up on Rick's thoughts.

Rick nods and moves to the Silverado to open the driver's side door. Carl climbs in on the other side and scoots to the middle for Lori to get in. Michonne and T-Dog pile into the back with Andrea the last to climb in and shut the door behind them.

Hershel is getting behind the wheel of the Hyundai with Beth in the passenger seat while Glenn and Maggie settle into the back seat.

Daryl's holding his motorcycle steady while Carol swings her leg over to take her place on the back of the bike.

Seeing the group reduced to such a small number is a kick in the teeth.

Twelve survivors; the number is two more than they had had at this same time the day before, but it's still too few.

Now isn't the time to think about all the lost ones, though, despite Andrea's recommendation to remember the fallen and not move on like they'd never stood beside them.

Daryl brings the Triumph to a rumbling start and Rick shakes off his thoughts to get behind the wheel of the Chevy. He starts the truck and pulls onto the road after the bike, making sure the little green Tucson is behind him.

Rick hopes it truly is just up the road a bit that they're heading because the silence is awkward in the Chevy and he has no idea how to fill it.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Followers of the comics will recognize an incorporation of the scene from issue #12, when the group finds the prison. I'll continue to cite any major scenes/moments/dialogs from the comics, but just a heads up that from here on this series will likely utilize the storyline through issue 19, possibly 20 depending on how long it decides to go with the substories. It will remain set in the TV verse, though, so anything from the comics is just 'adapted' or used to support what I'd like to see on the show. ;)

* * *

Daryl takes his right hand from the handlebar of the motorcycle and extends it outward; index and middle fingers pointing to indicate a right turn ahead.

Rick takes the more traditional approach of using his turn signal to let Hershel know they were about to get off the main road.

He sees the signs that mark the road as he follows the Triumph onto the exit, but doesn't really pay attention to the words as he focuses on keeping pace with Daryl while keeping a watchful eye on the woods for any Walkers drawn by the noise of the motorcycle. Carl shifts forward on the seat beside him to look more intently out the windshield.

"Are we there yet?"

The question is the first thing spoken by anyone during the ride and it hangs in the air for a moment.

Lori's the first one to break at their son's absurdly typical child query. She snorts over a cut off laugh and raises her right hand to cover the smile that curls her lips.

Rick casts a sideways glance her way; feeling a grin easing the tension from his own face. Carl's looking at his mother in such confusion that Rick huffs out a chuckle that earns him a bewildered 'what did I say' look from his son.

The adults in the backseat watch the boy's head twisting from one parent to the other and their laughter joins in to break the tension in the truck.

When Carl follows up his look by actually asking the grown-ups at large, "What did I say?" they all laugh until Rick can barely see to drive.

Lori tries to assure the kid that he hasn't said anything wrong, but she can't manage any kind of explanation that a child could understand as to why the adults found the moment so damned funny. She looks to Rick for help and he can only ruffle his son's hair to let Carl know that there was nothing wrong.

"You'll understand once you start to drive," Andrea leans forward from the back to say.

Carl turns toward her with the awkward smile of an unwitting comedian and she gives him a big, reassuring smile in return.

Her hand moves up to ruffle his hair, but hesitates at seeing Rick's fingers still tangled in the dark strands.

He's half-turned behind the wheel to watch his son and sees the blonde's hand hovering in midair. He stops laughing as her eyes flick toward him then dart away and he wonders how awkward it will be between them now with things having gone so far yet nowhere near far enough.

Her hand finally drops to give Carl's shoulder a squeeze before she pulls back to resettle in her seat.

They all fall quiet again as the road begins to incline and Rick returns his full attention to driving.

The road curves up ahead and he can see that it goes downhill from there. Rather than lead them further down that path, Daryl veers his motorcycle across the other lane to pull onto an overlook at the peak of the rise.

Rick follows suit, easing the Silverado to a stop beside the bike on the verge.

With the space full; Hershel just parks the Hyundai in the road behind them.

"Looks like we're here now," Rick states the obvious while cutting the engine.

Carol's dismounting the motorcycle starts everyone opening car doors and climbing out to approach the guardrail along the edge of the pull off.

Daryl stays on his bike; toeing down the kickstand then shifting to lean against the machine more than straddle it. His air is watchful and anticipatory, telling Rick that they are indeed about to see the other man's surprise.

It's a great, looming structure; visible from the road, but they all step to the railing as if for a closer look.

"It's a prison," Lori says and Rick recognizes the tone.

"It's a sanctuary," Andrea whispers from beside Carol and heads bob all around in agreement of the words.

"We can't go in there," Lori looks at the nodding heads then Rick with an incredulous expression. "It's full of those things. We cannot go in there."

The light in her eyes is just shy of full on panic, but she manages to keep her tone of voice calm enough to full the group into thinking she's being reasonable.

From their vantage point, Rick counts no less than a dozen Walkers outside the fence with twice that number in the prison yard. Prisons are known for their overpopulation in the world that used to be, so he knows these stragglers are just the tip of the iceberg, but…

"It may not be safe now," he moves to grasp his wife's shoulder and gives her a faint smile when she doesn't flinch away from the contact. "But it can be made safe. Look at those fences," he lets her go to address the whole gathering. "Prisons are made to be self-contained; that means generators for power, clothes, beds and food."

"Three hots and a cot," Daryl snorts. "Lot more than we got."

"Never thought I'd see the day that I'd _want_ to go to prison," T-Dog shakes his head, but looks are the distant structure with the obvious intent to get inside.

"We clean out those Walkers, we would have a veritable fortress," Hershel states, nodding his agreement to the thought and squeezing Beth's shoulder in reassurance.

"But," Lori looks around for support and settles an apologetic glance on Daryl, "it's a _prison_. Surely, if we keep looking we can find something-"

"No," Rick cuts her off firmly, "this is perfect."

He turns to look out over the valley, seeing beyond the security of the prison and fence to the lush ground that could be planted with fresh fruits and vegetables. He sees the open valley that would allow them to see a threat coming in plenty of time to take defensive positions in the watchtowers or lockdown inside the gates. He sees a place he can put his head down for sleep at night and not have to worry about undead hands tearing through insignificant canvas to get at his family.

"We're home," he draws a deep breath and lets it go with an encouraged lift to his shoulders.

All heads but one bob in agreement as they look out over the valley.

"They'll have weapons, too," Andrea moves in to stand by his side. "Snipers would have manned those guard towers with live ammo and they'd have to have supplies on hand for the threat of riots. We may have found ourselves a much needed arsenal."

Rick nods his agreement and smiles at her easy understanding of what all the facility offered for them.

"Good work, brother," he turns to clasp Daryl's hand and whack the other man on the back. "How the hell did you find it?"

"Walked," is the only answer he gets.

"This wasn't exactly around the corner from us," he prods just a bit.

"Had some thinking to do," the other man's eyes move over the group, lingering just long enough on Carol for Rick to get the gist of Daryl's earlier thoughts. "Was further by road, going around the woods and lake like it does. Only took me about twenty minutes on foot."

"If I may offer a suggestion," Michonne speaks up, drawing all attention immediately to her. "This housecleaning is almost guaranteed to be a lengthy effort and I would prefer to have the sunlight to help us with the task. We really should get moving."

The words effectively end their gawking and turns them all to huddle together.

"How you wanna play this, hoss?" Daryl asks with what he apparently intends to keep as Rick's nickname.

"Something tells me you've already given that some thought," he grins at the other man and gets a slow nod in return.

"Got everything sectioned off down there," the man moves to point out the maze of fencing inside the perimeter fence surrounding the whole compound. "We drive in through the main gate and get that bitch shut tight behind us. Once we have a block at our backs to keep any more Walkers from following us in, we focus on killing anything dead inside. Do it precise; military sweep style. Clean out a section at a time and lock it down till we're sure the place is ours."

"You never told us you'd been in the military," Carol looks intrigued by the man's words and his stepping up with a sound plan.

"Wasn't," he snorts his amusement, possibly his disdain at the idea. "Had enough nutjob vets in the family with dad and gramps."

"If this is to be our home, we need to draw as little attention as possible," Andrea looks toward Michonne and the newcomer smirks in answer to the coming question. "Are you up to this?"

"Girl, you just pity anything that dares to get between me and an actual mattress to sleep on," the woman fingers the hilt of her sword with a gleam of anticipation in her dark eyes as they move over the prison.

Rick appreciates the enthusiasm, but the move unsettles Lori and she shuffles back against his chest, reaching for his hand with one of hers and clinging to Carl with the other. As a reflex, he extends the comfort she seeks, clasping her fingers for a quick, reassuring squeeze and dropping a distracted kiss to her cheek. The scene is too familiar to him for any other reaction; his family is seeking him and he draws them close.

He thinks nothing of it until he catches Andrea's eyes on them before she twists her head away with a flush of color on her cheeks. Pain, embarrassment and shame all race across her expression while he watches her compose herself. As she works on finding the mask she'd worn for so long; the one that had kept him so damned clueless to her interest in him, Rick slowly eases himself away from Lori's clinging hand.

"Let's get inside that gate," he orders to get everyone in motion to move down the road to the prison.


	9. Chapter 9

The road winds away from the prison back toward the woods. It can only be a maximum security prison to be so isolated from any community which Rick imagines being both a good and bad thing for them.

Unlike the road to that point, Walkers begin to stagger out toward the sound of their vehicles driving past as they get closer to their destination.

Rick curses at the sight two of the things going after Daryl from the right and he vows he's going to have a serious talk with the man about muffling that bike's motor. He slows the Silverado and shifts behind the wheel to draw his Python while the motorcycle swerves and picks up speed to easily evade the pair of zombies.

"I've got this," Andrea taps his shoulder to silently instruct him to keep his focus on driving.

He looks back at her as she rolls down the back window and slides her torso through the opening. He watches her shift until she's braced against the window frame and aiming her Ladysmith at the Walkers. Without instruction he slows and keeps his hands steady on the wheel as the zombies turn their attention to the Chevy.

The blast of a gunshot shatters the quiet and he almost flinches at the sound. His instinct is to turn and watch to make sure she stays safe, but he sees the bullet tear through the head of a Walker and knows that Andrea's ok. He concentrates on keeping the truck steady as Daryl continues to bob and weave up ahead.

A second shot drops the other zombie and Rick catches sight of T-Dog rolling down his window to deal with the threats approaching from the left. He looks in the rearview and sees Glenn aiming his shotgun out the back window of the Tucson.

"I take it you've done this before," Michonne observes wryly from her position in the middle of the back seat.

His eyes jerk to meet hers in the rearview mirror and he allows a brief smile to touch his lips, "A time or two."

The crack of gunfire from the Glock T-Dog is using draws his attention back on the road only to veer right sharply to avoid the corpse as it crumbles to the pavement from the bullet to the brain.

"Sorry," he cringes as curses snap from the jostled passengers.

"Is it another herd?" Carl asks worriedly with his head on a swivel to watch the action outside.

"Nah, just strays," he hopes. "We'll be through in no time."

Lori meets his eyes over their sons head and he sees her doubt. There's no time for him to reassure them so he grits his teeth and hardens his stare to communicate to her the need to handle the situation.

She takes a breath and looks away for a moment before she draws Carl to her chest to give him the assurances Rick can't.

A burst of rapid gunfire explodes from both sides behind him and he speeds up to try getting through this obstacle course sooner rather than later.

He hears the increased throttle before he sees the Triumph take off ahead. A quick glance in the rearview shows Hershel following suit; driving virtually on the Chevy's bumper. Everyone is clearly on the same page to get the hell into their new home.

"I'm out," T-Dog draws back inside to declare after just three more shots sound from his gun.

Rick shifts once more to go for his Colt to give to the other man, but after two more shots in rapid succession, Andrea calls out "We're clear!"

He slows to look around and sees they've reached the end of the woods. The road ahead cuts through open field straight to the prison gate. Zombies are milling in several places, but he estimates they can make it to the entrance without any real threat from them.

Andrea slips back inside and rolls up her window, giving the world outside a close scrutiny before settling back in her seat.

An audible sigh escapes her and his eyes dart backward. He catches no reflection of her in the rearview and has to twist his head to look back at her. She meets his gaze with a smile; her expression relieved and exhilarated.

He understands both feelings and allows himself a moment of relief that they'd gotten through that particular gauntlet. Something sparkles in her eyes; something she seems to want to do or say, but her gaze darts to the right and the smile drops from her face as she shifts in her seat to stare watchfully out the window.

He looks beside him to find Lori looking back at him from over Carl's head as she continues to rub their son's back in a soothing manner. Her eyes aren't accusing, which is a good thing because he doesn't think he can handle that accusation for long without cracking and allowing some of his anger to vent toward her. Her expression seems to have gone beyond accusation to actual knowledge and he sees an underlying sadness on her face. There is an argument to be had between them, but they both know it has to wait.

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he returns his attention to the road as Daryl races his motorcycle through the main gate of the prison then veers off the road to park the bike in the grass in the section between the perimeter and secondary fence. He pushes the Silverado through that same gate a moment later and drives on through the third gate to park nearer to the entrance of the actual prison.

"I need a clip," T-Dog snaps from the back, his rustling movements indicating he was searching for but not finding any ammunition for his gun.

Before Rick can think to say anything, Andrea pushes her door open and darts out to run to the back of the truck.

"Stay here," he turns to order his wife and child and Lori nods like she would have argued any other instruction.

He gets out of the Chevy as has his Python unsheathed, cocked and ready to fire before his shoes hit the pavement. Michonne and T-Dog follow suit in exiting the vehicle as Andrea calls out a quick, "Got it," from the back.

They move to the rear of the truck as the blonde pokes her head out the opened hatch of the cap covering the bed of the Silverado. She shoves a clip at T-Dog, who immediately ejects his empty cartridge and replaces it with the new ammunition; handing the empty to Andrea. She takes it, fishes out what's left of the 9 millimeter bullets from the Sheriff's duffle before she climbs back out over the tailgate of the pickup to hop to the ground. She takes the items to the passenger side of the Chevy and raps on Lori's window until it starts to lower.

"Load it up," Andrea instructs simply before turning away to scan their surroundings.

They're safe to the left and right, with fences and gates on both sides to separate the prisoner intake section from the rest of the prison yard. It leaves them exposed on just two fronts; ahead of and behind them.

Without a word, they all move toward the others at the main gate.

"This is gonna be a bitch to hang back up," Daryl grouses as he kicks at the left panel of fencing that had served as part of the main swinging gate and had been torn off its hinges in an apparent exodus from the compound.

"Then we save it for last," Rick moves to the second gate, which apparently slid open to admit traffic to the grounds.

These gates usually operated electronically and at the command of a button's push to open or close, but electricity looked questionable at the moment so they'll have to get it closed manually. He pulls at the end of the gate but it resists his singular effort to draw it across the road to block them in.

"Guys," he looks to Daryl and T-Dog, "give me a hand. I think we can pull this gate closed."

Hershel moves along with the other two to grab some hold of the panel and on an unspoken count of three they all throw their strength into yanking at the fencing until it begins to move along its track to the other side of the road.

"We don't know how to lock it off," Rick huffs out with their staggering effort to cover the fifty foot gap of the entrance, "but I doubt any of those things will think to slide it open."

"Like those sumbitches would even have the strength to slide it open," Daryl pants as he continues to put all his effort into getting the gate closed.

"I feel safer already," Hershel grunts in his two cents.

As the gap closes they find it easier to get behind the frame and push the panel forward until it finally clicks closed against the rest of the fencing. Rick and Daryl quickly climb up the chain link to get back with the others, having moved to the outside to push it closed. They take a moment to double over, gulping in breath once their feet hit pavement next to Hershel and T-Dog.

When he straightens, Rick finds all eyes upon him and his first impulse is to curse aloud. He moves back to the Silverado instead and raps on Lori's window to give her a warning before he opens the door.

"Get back to the Hyundai," he instructs as she and Carl climb out of the truck. "We'll close this gate," he indicates the interior and final gate into the prison. "Daryl, T-Dog and I will work on cleaning out in here. Glenn, you keep an eye here to make nothing from the outside gets through here. The rest of you, walk the perimeter. Look for any weaknesses in these fences and make sure the in between is clear of any Walkers. I don't want anything sneaking up on you guys."

He moves along with Daryl to start pushing the last gate closed, but Andrea and Michonne stop them both by moving to stand on their side of the opening. The blonde very calmly checks the clip on her Smith & Wesson while the black woman draws the sword from her hip and runs her fingers over the sides of the sharp blade as if to verify its lethalness.

"I'm a better shot than T-Dog," Andrea says simply when she finally deigns to acknowledge the men staring at her. "I belong on this side of the fence with you, Rick. The others will be just fine sweeping these fences without me. I can be of more use _here._"

He wants to argue, but can't find the words to do it. He should have expected her to be ready to face the harder task, but Lori had never made a move to actually fight beside him and he realizes he's gotten used to just _protecting_ these women.

Carol is unarmed, but standing strong among the group near the Tucson; ready to do what she could to help and Maggie is holding the Mossberg 12 gauge with a resolute expression that tells him she will fire without hesitation to guard her family. Beth certainly might need the protection and Lori obviously still wanted it, but as he looks over the group he realizes that these women are growing more and more capable of surviving on their own; gender be damned.

"These things respond to noise," Michonne draws his attention by adding her two cents. "If this is going to be our new home, I would prefer we not wake the whole neighborhood to greet us at once."

"I can't argue with that," his lip quirks in an unbidden smile at their determination to take part in the clusterfuck that is bound to follow.

Seeing their welcome on the inside of the fence, the women ease their defiant stances while he and Daryl turn back to helping close the gate with T-Dog and Hershel assisting again from the other side.

"I'd appreciate it if you help keep watch on our backs, Maggie," he says to the young woman and she meets his gaze slowly.

He knows he'll have some ways to go before she trusts him with her safety as her father did, but he understands her reservations. Glenn is her new love and he'd been put in some vulnerable situations by following Rick's instruction or example and she liked to blame the leader for that rather than accept that Glenn chose to assume such risk for the group.

After a quick glance at her man, who gives her a slightly imploring look, she turns back to give Rick a nod of agreement to the idea. He smiles his thanks and watches her move to stand beside Glenn as the Korean checks his Remington to make sure it's ready in case needed to guard the gates.

"Beth, keep an eye on Carl for me," Lori instructs the teenager before she moves to stand with Carol. "We'll go right and check around that way."

"Wait," Carl cries before Beth can hustle him into the safety of the Hyundai. "You need a gun."

His son digs Daryl's Glock out of his pocket and shoves the weapon at his mother.

"So that's where it went," Daryl snorts from beside him at the sight of the gun.

Rick colors briefly at the reminder that the boy had never had the man's permission to take the gun, but he can't apologize for his decision to keep his son armed considering how the Glock had been used to save his life.

Lori takes the gun, checks the ammunition and safety pin, just as Rick had taught her years ago when he insisted she have some knowledge of gun use and safety. He knows how she feels about the weapons, though, and is surprised to see her go through the motions before she tucks the gun in the waistband of her jeans.

"Get inside and mind Beth until I get back," she orders Carl with a quick hug and kiss to his forehead before she and Carol set off to the right.

Hershel and T-Dog begin to move to the left, each man armed and ready for what would hopefully be a quick, easy sweep.

With them all set to task, Rick turns his focus to the more daunting chore he faces.

"How should we do this?" Andrea asks him as the quartet inside the fence turns to stare at the gaping entrances to the facility.

The front door into the prison is hanging off its hinges, much like the main gate. The door of the loading dock to the left is standing wide open stains of soot and blood on the cement; indicating the battle fought and lost in that particular area.

"If you want to do this quietly," he looks to Michonne, "I suggest you and Daryl go in the front and start a sweep. Be quick, be careful and be smart; it'll be dark in there."

"Got it covered," Daryl grins and digs into one of the many pockets in his pants.

He comes up with a flashlight; small, but with bright LED bulbs and he nimbly straps the light to the front of his crossbow, near mounted the quiver.

"You think of everything," Rick huffs out a laugh at the man's resourcefulness.

"Yeah, yeah," Daryl grins, "I was a Cub scout till they kicked me out for eating a Brownie."

The redneck winks playfully at Andrea and Michonne, getting chuckles from everyone before he starts toward the front door. Michonne follows without hesitation and Rick watches until the pair disappears from sight.

"So what are we doing?" Andrea moves to his side to ask.

He looks to the raised panel of the loading dock then her and back to the dock.

"You ready for this?"

She looks at him then the dock and back again.

Her answer is to release the safety on the Ladysmith, brace her feet shoulders width apart on the pavement and slowly raise the gun to stare down the site at the opening.

"Time to ring that dinner bell," he jokes, but she doesn't take her attention from the dock to acknowledge the shared memory as he points the Python toward the sky and fires a single shot into the air.

He takes a moment to replace the spent bullet in the chamber of his pistol, knowing he'd need every round for what came out of the prison.

"Don't forget how much faster we are than these things. Do not let yourself get surrounded," he orders as he clicks the fully loaded chamber back into place. "If you have to run, _run_."

"I will if you do," she turns her head just enough for him to see the steely glint in her eyes and the knowing quirk of her lips.

Just like Lori, she clearly knows that he will stand his ground and fight to see this task through even if it means he might fall in seeing it done.

Unlike Lori, though, he sees that Andrea understands his motivations and is willing to go fall right along with him; so long as they went fighting and taking as many Walkers with them as they could.

He tries and fails not to remember Shane's taunt about Lori being a broken woman; tries and fails not to draw comparisons between his wife and the strong, confidant woman standing ready to fight and die at his side.


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: Just when you thought I'd forgotten all about our Andrick! OMG, I'm writing again and I'm so happy I could do cartwheels even though it's 1am and I have to be up 6 for another long long day at work. So. Worth. It.

Missed you all, hope you enjoy.

Sleep now.

* * *

It starts as a trickle; one lone Walker straggling out from the dark interior of the prison as if just woken from a deep sleep. With a barely visible flex of her index finger Andrea fires the shot to hit the thing dead center of its forehead to drop it back into the shadows before it gets anywhere near them.

Another one creeps forward to meet the same fate and a third follows. All slow and leisurely and Rick knows it can't be _this_ easy.

As he thinks it, a pair of zombies becomes visible in the entrance. He raises his gun to finally fire a shot and it wavers as he sees the movement surging from inside the facility toward the light.

"If we survive this," Andrea says with absolute calm and sincerity as she fires two shots in quick succession, "I may have to kill you."

He hears the words and feels an unlikely grin lift the corner of his lips as he begins firing to try taking out as many Walkers as possible as soon as their heads become visible in the sunlight. Six bullets go far too quickly and the number of fiends still coming is increasing at an alarming rate.

Andrea sees him flick out the chamber to reload and moves to stand guard in front of him, providing cover with her body and gun to give him the time needed to dig out six more rounds from the dwindling supply in his pockets. The move gives him pause for just a moment before he begins to jam the new bullets in.

He's torn between conflicting urges and instincts; the old-fashioned notion that he should be pushing _her_ behind _him _because it was a man's duty to do the protecting of a woman versus the appreciation he had for anyone so willing to stand undaunted in the face of such coming danger.

She steps backward, pushing into him to urge him back as well and he sees that they're losing ground. He shoves aside sexist thoughts, finishes his reload and snaps the chamber back in place to resume firing.

He can't count the number of bodies coming at them. Some wore the orange scrubs or blue coveralls of inmates, others the remnants of guard uniforms and a few were in casual clothes. They filled the wide space of the bay door and just kept fucking coming.

Even making every shot count as he did, six rounds just weren't cutting it against the coming numbers. As he fires the last shot in the chamber his blood freezes at an announcement they really didn't need at that particular moment.

"I'm out," Andrea says; calm enough until she realizes that his ammo is spent as well.

"Chevy," he orders with a quick glance at the vehicle.

She's moving toward it without his instruction, sliding inside to check the clip she'd told Lori to refill with rounds.

"Goddamnit," she curses, finding T-Dog's clip to still be completely empty.

He quickly reloads his Colt; back braced against the side of the Suburban while she ejects her cartridge and begins to shove the .9 millimeter rounds into the clip. If her fingers fumble with the urgency of the situation, he doesn't see it.

As he flicks the reloaded chamber back into place to resume firing a shotgun blast comes from the gate. He doesn't have to look that way to see who had fired or why as he looks in front of him and sees a corpse collapse to the ground with a good portion of its head now blown away.

Without hesitation, he shuts the door to the truck to put Andrea safely inside the vehicle while he faces the threat alone. There are eight practically surrounding him now and he hears her cursing him and them before he starts firing and drowns out all sound aside from the click and crack of the hammer going down and bullet being expelled from the barrel of his gun.

Shotgun blasts come again, indicating that both Glenn and Maggie are now offering assistance from the other side of the fence and he swears he'll kiss them both once he gets out of this.

The truck rocks slightly at his back, drawing a moment of his attention to make sure no Walkers had overtaken the vehicle and somehow gotten into the driver's side to get to Andrea. He sees her blonde head disappearing over the seat into the backseat of the extended cab before she slips over that hurdle to wriggle through the window to get into the back of truck.

Knowing she's going for the duffle and whatever weapons it holds, he returns his focus to another quick reload before picking off more zombies.

"Rick, get out of there," Glenn calls from the other side of the gate as he expels the last shell in his 12 gauge.

His mind rejects the order, but his feet seem to obey it, shuffling backward along the body of the truck while digging in his pockets for bullets that were no longer there. He holsters the useless weapon and continues to inch toward the fence.

"Dad," Carl cries out, drawing his attention to the fact that the boy has exited the Hyundai and has a serious talking to coming. "Use this."

The machete just barely fits through the links of the fencing but the key is that it fit and he takes it gladly while Glenn turns to aim a shot at a Walker that had gotten dangerously close to Rick's back. His eardrums ring from the blast and he takes back the kiss he would have given the other man because that had just been too damned close for comfort.

"Get back in the car, Carl," he orders, shaking his head to try clearing it as he grips the handle of his new weapon and tries to focus.

He can only hope the boy obeys because he has no time to check as a zombie stumbles around the bumper of the Silverado just as Andrea decides to pop the hatch open and try climbing out.

"Get back inside," he orders, feeling like a broken record as he hacks the machete into the back of the Walkers head.

She makes no attempt to obey him as she throws the duffle back up onto the cap atop the bed of the truck then continues her slide out of the vehicle.

"I'm taking the high ground," she defies, using the tailgate to push herself up onto the roof after the bag.

He has no time to argue with her as the undead begin to swarm around the vehicle trying to get at the pretty blonde buffet shoving shells into the chamber of a 12 gauge on top of the Chevy. As a distraction it isn't one he would have chosen, but with the back closed up once more she's put herself in an ideal location; out of reach. He takes the opportunity it presents and begins to slash and hack his way through the heads of the Walkers as they gather around the truck and try to figure out a way to climb it or pull it down for them to get at Andrea.

They start to stagger at him, but he gets in the swing of it and finds the machete easier and more effective than the Python, though the effort is exhausting. Finding more bullets for his prized possession was tops on his list of priorities after getting out of this mess.

Shots begin to fire from above, indicating Andrea's gotten into position and she begins picking the creatures off like tin cans on a split rail fence. Random shots continue to boom from behind him indicating Glenn and Maggie still have some ammunition and Aspirin is racing up the list of things he needs after this because the barrage of bullets firing so close is making his teeth rattle.

Daryl and Michonne suddenly reappear like a mirage at the rear of the onslaught.

The newcomer to the group is slicing a path of destruction through the Walkers far more elegantly than Rick's managing with the machete, but his ego can handle such facts given how she's swooping in to help finish the task of keeping his ass alive.

Daryl is … Rick blinks and believes more than his teeth have somehow been rattled in the last few minutes because he swears Daryl is fighting with a mop. Broken in half with a blood caked sharp and jagged end in each hand, but still… a mop?

After what feels like hours, but was likely no more than thirty minutes the battle stops. Everything stops. The area goes quiet as guns stop firing and everyone seems to stop even breathing as they wait for the next shoe to drop.

A heartbeat.

Two.

Three pulses of blood still flowing through his veins and he allows his lungs to draw in the breath they're beginning to clamor for.

He blinks and slowly allows his hand to lower the machete from up high and ready to swing at the next head to hang at ease by his side.

Michonne flicks out her right hand, Katana flashing outward as an extension of her body and a veritable river of blood and gore runs from the hilt of the sword down a grove in the deadly blade to splatter to the pavement. Her head turns slowly to survey the scene around her, eyes watchful for a single twitch from anything sprawled on the ground. When all the bodies remain unmoving and possibly _dead_ dead now she turns her dark eyes upon him and there's an expression there that makes a voice in the back of his head speak up and say, "Oh shit."

Daryl seems oblivious to the rage in the woman's eyes as he calmly yanks one half of his 'weapon' out of a skull then strolls past the woman to stand beside Rick.

"Nice little party you managed," the redneck drawls all casual like, but Rick knows the spark of angry sarcasm in the man's tone. "Hope you're ready to clean it up now 'cause I'm pretty much done for the count."

With that, the man grabs Rick's left arm and cheerfully jams the bloody mop head into his hand.

"Let's see about getting y'all past the velvet rope now," Daryl moves on to the fence to proclaim grabbing at the edge of the gate and giving it a yank to try opening the barrier.

Dropping the mop with a barely suppressed shudder of revulsion, Rick glances up to check on Andrea, finds her beginning to move from the roof of the Chevy then turns his attention to the other man before Glenn can move to help open the gate.

"Don't open it yet. We need to do a sweep of the inside and-"

"I can assure you," Michonne stands over him with her free hand still fisted from the punch she had used to cut him off before he could complete his instruction. "Whatever may have been inside either trampled past _us_ on its way after you or was killed by us. If you care to doubt me feel free to walk yourself into the big, dark building without a damned light to see by and I'll stand out here in the open seeing how many more _I_ can wake up to grab at you while you're virtually blind."

He hears Andrea's boots hitting the ground before she rushes to carefully put herself between Michonne and him.

"Come on, now," she chides, giving her friendliest smile as she subtly begins to urge the other woman to back away. "It wasn't his brightest idea, but you got back out. Looks like we may have cleaned house pretty well, too. Let's not do anything rash now."

"Perhaps you could have thought of issuing _that_ advisement to him before he deliberately went against the one simple request I made that we _**not make noise to alert this things to our presence and bring this whole place down on our heads at once."**_

He makes no attempt to defend his actions, pushes to his feet and allows her to vent for a few moments before moving to stand beside Andrea. The blonde immediately moves herself to put him behind her and out of Michonne's range and he smiles at the maneuver; the first time she does it.

When it happens again, he's too tired with too much work yet to be done to allow the shenanigans to continue. As she wiggles her way between him and the other woman he tries not to look down at her wiggling backside as it positions itself in front of him and he puts a firm hand on her shoulder to hold her back as he moves to stand directly in front of Michonne.

"I appreciate what you done here and I understand what you've been through, so I'll allow the outburst, but if you're fixing to stay here with us you've got to realize things need to get done and sometimes quick, hard and ugly is the only way to do it if we're to survive. It may not have been my best judgment call; most everyone here would probably tell you there's been a lot of that lately, but it had to be done and now it is done. Can we move on?"

If she had been a man he would have extended his hand for a shake, but the gesture doesn't sit right in his head so he just holds her gaze until she gives a single nod of agreement before nimbly sliding her katana back into its sheathe on her hip.

"I believe you were volunteering yourself for a sweep of the inside," she says, crossing her arms across her chest with challenge now lighting her eyes. "Your friend and I can begin piling the bodies."

"You can use my flashlight," said 'friend' remarks as he moves away from the gate to join the trio. "Soon as you find my bow. Got knocked out of my hands a few yards in."

Seeing Daryl shoulder up to the black woman and exchange a smirk as the two are obviously relishing the idea of Rick venturing into the prison, he really wishes for some of that Aspirin right about now.

His fingers flex and he feels clothing beneath them; realizes he's still gripping her shoulder. Before he can pull his hand away, she reaches up to touch his fingers, giving him a smile over the shoulder.

"I saw a few flashlights in the Chevy. We'll use them, see if there's any way to get some lights on inside," she gives his hand a squeeze then slowly pulls away to head toward the vehicle.

He smiles at her back, liking the idea that she's spoiling the fun their companions had thought they would have sending him into the prison without light. His eyes follow her all the way to the truck, lingering as she opens the back door, bends in and rummages on the floorboard to come up with one flashlight.

He opens his mouth to tell her that all he'd need because there's no way he's letting her go in with him when a movement on the other side of the fence catches his eye. His eyes meet Lori's before she looks away from him to glance at Andrea before moving back to him. He wonders how long she'd been there, what she'd seen or heard and what she thinks she's seen or heard. The clench of her jaw and sour pucker of her lips along with the condemnation in her eyes tells him she's seen enough.

Suddenly wandering into the unknown depths of a prison that may still be overrun by zombies seems the lesser of two evils.


	11. Chapter 11

"I don't know why Michonne was upset with you," Andrea observes with blatant sarcasm, "this is not at all creepy."

She slips into the dark interior of the prison at his signal and takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness that is hardly disturbed by the beams of their flashlights.

"We need a working source of light and room safe for us tonight. Anything edible would be a definite plus," Rick instructs as his gaze has adjusted and he begin to move further in, flashlight focused on his feet as he progresses slowly. "Stay close to me."

"Of everything you've ever said, I think that's the one most deserving of a 'Duh'."

He snorts out a surprised laugh at that then bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying more. He wants to tell her to be quiet; they need to be careful not to draw any attention to them should creatures still be stirring in this place, but the place is creepy as hell and he can't fault her for wanting to talking to distract from their surroundings.

Her feet shuffle along behind him, moving slightly to his left and staying close enough that he still senses her within arm's length. He sweeps his light across the corpse littered floor then over to the wall in search of a light switch and doors to check. Negotiating the tangle of bodies is difficult to impossible in the center of the wide entrance and corridor but he can't move to hug the wall because it would only make sense for Andrea to hug the opposite wall; putting a good twenty feet of distance between them before the path funneled down to a still too broad eight or so feet for more single file walking with a guard accompanied inmate.

"I see Daryl's light," she says, voice moving further away in obvious intent to retrieve the object.

Rick swings around to follow her with the beam of his flashlight as well as his cautious steps. He wants to warn her back and get the bow himself but is pretty sure she'd beat him with her flashlight if he voices the concern. Instead, he settles for backing her up and providing guard as she moves carefully toward the dim light on the floor ahead that can only be the flashlight Daryl had attached to the stock of his abandoned crossbow.

They both move with greater care the closer they get, each knowing that the hunter never would have left his signature weapon without the threat of near certain death if he took the time to retrieve the fallen bow.

He hears the hissing rasp of needless breath just as she bends to grab the bow and grabs the back of her parka to pull her back before she can even scream at the hand curling around her wrist. Without thinking, he moves to take her place, his booted foot coming down hard on the forehead of the corpse tangle in the strap of Daryl's crossbow. The head thuds against the floor as Andrea stumbles, trips and falls behind him, but Rick keeps his focus on the gaping mouth and bloody teeth of the Walker staring up at him as he takes aim to put a bullet through its brain. Hating as always to disrespect the dead, he jostles the corpse with his foot after it slumps to an unmoving heap.

It doesn't stir.

He takes a moment to let the crack of the single gunshot stop ringing in the room and echoing in his ears then he holds his breath to listen carefully for any sounds of groans or shuffling feet. On the floor behind him, Andrea is still and similarly quiet but he knows without asking that she is ok after the fall. Not hearing anything, he gives the space around them a thorough sweep with his flashlight, eyes following the beam of light with intent to find and eliminate any additional threats.

He sees nothing.

The breath he has held shudders out as he takes a moment to holster his gun before he turns to help Andrea up.

"You alright?" he can't help but ask now as he bends to offer his hand.

"Ego's bruised," she lifts her hand from the floor beneath her, but hesitates before putting it in his. "Please tell me Carol still has Wet Wipes on her."

He follows her gaze to the gore covering her pale skin and casts a look around for something that she can wipe off on. Seeing nothing and unable to give an honest response to her plea, he ignores the congealed blood that transfers to his skin as he takes hold of her hand to drag her up from the remains that had apparently broken open under the impact of her fall. The stench of rotted organs is gagging and he tries not to be obvious as he averts his nose away from her as she's covered in the stuff.

"Sorry," she cringes in apology as their sticky hands separate upon her standing. "Such a rookie mistake."

She looks down at herself in disgust and her repulsion is more at her not realizing that the body was still animated as she reached for the crossbow than at the gore she wipes at ineffectually at the gore on her backside and hands. She gives up and swipes her hands along the front of her jeans to stain complete the ruination of the clothing while freeing her palms and fingers of debris. He picks up her fallen flashlight while she moves to kick corpse that had started this particular chain of events.

"I am so sick and tired of these damned close calls," she grinds out with each increasingly violent kick to the pile of decayed flesh and bones.

"Enough," Rick presses in behind her to curl a calming hand around the ball of her shoulder. "I've got you. I won't let you come to _that_."

Her head sags forward with a shuddering exhalation of breath as he apparently says just the right wrong thing.

"You only have two eyes and two hands," she drops her shoulder to shrug out of his hold. "Keep that promise for Carl and Lori."

There's a bit of regret in the words, but no anger or bitterness and that is what makes the blow harder to absorb. He swallows and licks at suddenly dry lips as she pulls away to collect Daryl's bow and check it over for damage before loading it with one of the two arrows remaining in the mounted quiver.

"We should avoid the center of the corridor, too many bodies," she braces the bow again her shoulder and stares down the site with the illumination from the mounted flashlight. "Stick to the walls. Won't need anyone watching our backs that way."

"Andrea," he stops her from moving to cross to the opposite wall, not ready to allow such physical or emotional distance between them when she's so visibly shaken.

He turns her to him, gently urges the bow down to point safely at the ground then draws her unresisting body into his embrace.

"I hate this," she confesses as she curls into his chest. "No matter how hard I try, they're lurking behind that tree or lying in wait and I keep finding them. I just want to stop fighting their hands on me, feeling their _want_ to tear me to pieces. Do you know how many times they've almost gotten me since Atlanta? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be caught in their grip and not know if you can stop them before their teeth or fingers break your skin and end it all?"

He tightens his arms around her and she presses her head against the crook of his neck, breathing hard and fast as she twists her fingers in his shirt to fight for control of her emotions. He has no comforting lies to offer and keeps silent, letting his body do the work of soothing her with sweeps of his hands over her back and the occasional brush of his lips over her hair.

He doesn't know how long they stay there like that, knows that the whole time has been an indulgence that they can't afford but can't have gone without either. They part only when the dim beam of the flashlight between them flickers out entirely and Andrea draws away to shake the bow like that will somehow turn the light back on.

It doesn't work and he takes the crossbow from her to exchange for her working flashlight. She accepts the light with a nod that silently tells him she's ok again as she draws her gun to move onward.

Rick bobbles the bow and his own flashlight until he has a good grip on both to follow her. Despite her words and his own knowledge that they should keep to the walls, their steps continue on a path down the center of the corridor, sweeping the walls and floors tirelessly with their flashlights.

As the walls narrow down, the number of corpses lessens as they move deeper into the prison. Light filters in from the high barred windows across the way and some of their tension eases with the natural break in shadows. The walkways of the higher levels of cells keep them in darkness as they continue on to the door seeming to beckon them at the end of the corridor.

They reach the barrier without incident and pause outside to brace themselves for opening the door to find whatever awaits them on the other side. Quiet for reasons he can't begin to really explain, they agree with a series of hand gestures and head movements that Andrea will turn the knob to pull the door open while Rick moves into the breach.

He slings the strap of Daryl's bow over his shoulder to put the unfamiliar weapon out of the way at his back before he draws his Python and holds up three fingers to start the countdown. She nods and takes hold of the doorknob; watching closely as Rick mouths "three," curls down his ring finger, "two," brings down his middle finger, "one" then makes a fist.

She turns the knob and pulls before he even begins to nod for her to do it.

Nothing happens.

She twists her hand again and again, alternately pushing and pulling but the barrier remains closed.

"It isn't locked," she breaks the silence with a frown. "It's turning. Something has to be jamming it from the inside."

_Which meant that the door opened inward, not outward and someone had made an effort to keep others from getting through._

"Step back and get ready," he orders, wishing he could tell her to go back for Daryl to do this with him and knowing she'd never leave him alone in a circumstance like this.

She curls her lower lip inward to bite down on as she nods and steps back with growing concern to allow him forward to throw his shoulder into the door to try forcing through the barricade. It gives after four bone-jarring and flesh bruising rams that he knows he'll be feeling for days to come.

They both stagger back as light pours from the opening.

Light from an abundance of barred windows in the walls surrounding a large room that appears to be the cafeteria as well as light from fixtures set up around the room and rigged to provide artificial light from a source that may well be electrical.

The possibility of power combines with something that smells like food and distracts them for a moment but Andrea soon gasps his name behind him to draw Rick's focus to the fact that the room is also occupied.

"Hey. You guys here for the meatloaf?"

In his bafflement and surprise at the innocuous words, Rick loses his grip on the flashlight and the clatter echoes loudly in the surreal moment.

He wonders if the sound of his jaw hitting the floor in shock is just as audible.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Those familiar with the comics will notice a divergence from this chapter forward. From the S3 promo spots I've seen thus far, the show is going vastly off script for much of the coming prison arc so with the knowledge that none of this is likely to really come to be in the show, I'm going to start taking all the liberties I want with both TV & comic canon. :)

* * *

Rick kicks aside the fallen flashlight to make sure it won't get in his way if sudden movement is necessary then he shifts subtly to do his best to obscure the all too tempting blonde standing behind him.

The men are clearly inmates; he recognizes that without the tellingly uniform scrub-like clothes they're wearing. No matter the seemingly friendly greeting he has received, there is no way that Rick can or will relax his guard against the strangers when he's all that stands between five grown men and Andrea. The fact that the men have been locked inside this prison throughout the apocalypse and God only knew how long before hand keeps the pistol gripped firmly in his hand, though aims the muzzle at the ground so as not to appear a blatant threat if they truly are friendly.

Their greeter tips his bald head to the side and studies Rick carefully with knowing dark eyes. The man is aware of the gun and Rick's tension and the corner of his mouth kicks up in amusement at it.

_The leader_, Rick recognizes all the signs in that cocky Alpha smirk.

A twitchy little guy that appears little more than a kid is all but literally bouncing on the seat beside the leader; his knee starts jittering under the table, his right hand goes to tug at his ear and pick at an old scab at the base of his neck and his dark eyes jump nervously from the leader to Rick and back and forth; back and forth.

_Junkie and obviously involved with the leader_, Rick determines as nicely as he can when he has a very Shane-like voice in the back of his head scoffing, "Prison bitch."

An older, balding man sits with his back to the door and doesn't do more than flick a quick glance at the people that had just busted in their door.

_Watch him_, calls every cop instinct that he has.

"We were beginning to think no one would ever come checking for survivors here," declares a big bear of a man with long, curly gray hairs trailing from his head and chin in a barely kept hairstyle and beard.

His voice boomed from a large chest and his mouth curled into a natural grin through the mass of his facial hair.

_Lifer,_ and Rick categorizes this one as harmless, likely useful to the group.

Quiet and hunkered down at a separate table is a chunky guy with an honest to God mullet. This inmate is watchful of Rick, leery of the leader and very protective of the plate set in front of him.

_Meatloaf._

"We would love some meatloaf," he stares hungrily at the dish and belatedly answers the original question.

His attention jerks to the leader of the small group as the man pushes up from his table and moves toward Rick with a slight hunch to his bulk that Rick recognizes is a gesture intended to put him at ease when confronted with the man's stature.

Black, 6'4" and easily 225 pounds of prison weight honed muscle; a skull tattooed on the shaven skin of his head as well as swirls of ink appearing beyond the edges of clothing to indicate art on his arms and chest. Some the blotchy, thick and black work of other inmates, some hinting at color and artistry from the outside.

Rick wishes he had the football playing bulk of T-Dog with him just to counter the potential threat of this stranger.

"Come on back," the man gestures for Rick to step further in. "I'll show where the plates and shit is then you can help yourselves while you fill us in on what the fucks happened since the news went out."

Ricks ignores the saliva pooling in his mouth and the grumble of his gut and keeps himself planted in front of Andrea.

"There are more of us," he says trying to make it as obvious of a warning as he meant it. "How much do you have?"

"Plenty," the man boasts proudly like it's his own personal achievement. "It's a prison, man. This place is stocked out the ass to feed enough to fill every seat in this joint for weeks on end. Just the five of us left to enjoy it, we've barely made a dent. Mostly the canned and box shit left since the fridge and freezer went offline, but we do good. You're in luck 'cause this is likely the last of the good batches of meatloaf that contains actual meat."

"Go back and get the others," he orders with little more than a glance over his shoulder at Andrea.

"Rick," he feels her move in closer to his back and knows she's as reluctant to leave him alone with these people as he is to allow them a glimpse of her when he's the only other protection that she has.

Maximum security prisoners meant drugs and/or violence; rape, battery, murder. Rick would bet his Python that this guy looking to make them feel at home was not in prison for cooking someone's books.

"Go get the others," he turns long enough to meet her watchful gaze and give her a grin. "They're hungry and this is food."

She looks past him and he tenses with the knowledge that she's looking into the leader's eyes for some kind of reassurance before she gives Rick a nod.

"I'll be back in no time," she promises him and doesn't hesitate to threaten the strangers that she can't see past the barrier of his back.

He knows the moment she leaves and resists the urge to throw a punch when her departure draws a hum of appreciation from the man in front of him as the stranger tips his head to peer around Rick and watch Andrea walk away. He can imagine the bouncy swish of her bright blonde ponytail and the lengthy stride of her lean legs encased in those tight jeans.

"Your lady?" the leader asks with all kinds of interest in his tone.

"A friend," he grits out past the odd instinct to give a simple affirmative response.

"Hmm," dark eyes stare at him and seem to see straight past the spoken words. "Probably have to repeat this a few times, but since we're alone might as well get it over with with you. Name's Dexter," the man extends his hand to accompany the introduction.

"Rick," he holsters is weapon and puts the emptied hand in the man's grip for a quick shake.

No posturing for power in the handshake with an abundance of gripping to show strength, just a perfunctory gesture to complete the making of their acquaintance.

"The scrawny one's Andrew," the junky's hand shoots out in a brief wave before going back to pick at the now bleeding patch on his neck. "Big guy's Axel," the bearded man gives a jaunty salute. "Eugene's the loner and that there is Thomas."

The one with the mullet, Eugene, meets his gaze briefly then looks quickly back at his food to push a speared chunk of meatloaf around the surface of his plate to drag through mashed potatoes and green beans. From Thomas, the balding white man that had yet to truly acknowledge Rick's presence there is only a quick lift and nod of his head to acknowledge the introduction.

"You want to get a jump on eating or…" the words deliberately trail off.

"I'll wait for my group," Rick tries not to sound defensive though his posture is just that as he backs up against the doorjamb and crosses his arms over his chest to split his attention between the men in the mess hall and the quiet of the corridor waiting for Andrea to lead the others through.

"You're not search and rescue, are you?" Dexter takes a similar position opposite in the open doorway.

The space really isn't enough for two grown men to muscle into this way, but both had clearly done enough that neither would surrender the optimal spot for watch.

"What's going on out there?"

Rick takes a moment to consider that question and how there is no possible way to answer it without having a question of his own answered.

"How much do you know?"

A snort of laughter escapes the man and he turns his focus from the corridor, briefly to Rick then fixes his rather amused attention at the table he'd left.

"I know that all this living dead shit started because of Andrew."

The man in question abruptly stops fidgeting and drops his hand so quickly to twist in his lap that the springy curls on his head bounce around his face. He's suddenly all eyes, looking scared and wounded and locking in on Dexter like he never expected the man to say something like that. He looks like a kicked puppy and Rick finds himself wanting to defend the kid on principle, but Dexter's words are too mystifying for him to do more than stand there with his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two men.

"I think that's a story that should probably wait for everyone to get here," he states slowly; trying not to show how disturbing it was for Dexter to say something like he had while Andrew looks pole axed and the others in the room just take it all in apparent stride.


	13. Chapter 13

Dexter and Rick remain stationed in the doorway to watch as the group makes its way into the prison with Andrea leading the way; Ladysmith at the ready to fire and an icy gleam in her eye to tell the inmate that she will not hesitate if he does anything to threaten the others. Michonne and Glenn flank her; the former with katana drawn and the latter with a shotgun held loosely in his hands, barrel aimed safely at the ground so as not to show an over abundance of force as they enter, but clearly prepared to take action if necessary.

Carl and Lori are next followed by Carol and Beth. T-Dog is visibly armed with his glock and Hershel bears a rifle with Maggie toting a shotgun at her father's side. Daryl brings up the rear of the procession and makes no effort whatsoever to disguise the fact that he's prepared to take Dexter out as he keeps his newly recovered crossbow braced against his shoulder with his steely eye locked on the inmate through the weapon's sight.

"Seriously?" Dexter turns to ask Rick after taking in the man eyeing him down. "A bow and arrow? That's some real Robin Hood white shit right there."

The inmate moves back out of the doorway, shaking his head and laughing.

"What's up, kung fu sister?" he asks Michonne, still chortling as he turns back to the other prisoners. "Wait till you get a load of these guys!"

Rick's teeth grind at the man's derision. His eyes flick first to Andrea who doesn't take her focus from the back of the inmate's shaven head then move to the back of the line to meet Daryl's gaze as the hunter twitches his focus long enough to convey a simple message to Rick. _Just give me the signal_, Daryl says with the pointed movements of his gaze and Rick gives a quick nod to acknowledge the support then subtly shakes his head to indicate now is not the time.

Daryl nods back and slowly lowers the weapon, turning to do a quick visual sweep of the prison cell beside him to insure there's no threat to them from the undead.

"We clear?" the hunter asks, eyes watchful and body tense as he looks towards the upper levels of the cellblock.

"If they're running loose, they're down here and dead," Rick answers, casting his own worried glance upward as a rattle is suddenly heard from above.

"Lot of those things got locked in their cells when the rioting started," Axel says as he moves forward to stare curiously at the group as they stand huddled outside the cafeteria making no move yet to enter without Rick's okay to do so. "They still like to rattle their cage when they can."

The man casts a quick glance at the upper decks then turns a friendly smile towards the group. Rick senses a welcome or friendly overture of some sort to be forthcoming from the biker, but whatever words Axel may have said die on his tongue as the smile dies on his lips. His gaze moves beyond the living to the dead littering the floor outside the mess hall.

"Dear God," the man whispers as he pushes through the entrance and past the group to survey the damage that he'd been sheltered from locked inside the cafeteria.

"Sorry, man," Daryl sees the stranger's distress and claps him consolingly on the back, "God caught the first ride out of this shit."

"Come on, everyone," Rick says to break the sudden tension and growing somberness of the moment. He straightens away from the doorjamb and moves aside to indicate they're all to enter. "They've got food. We all need to eat."

One by one they move past him into the dining area; each member of the group looking to him for confirmation that this is somehow safe and he assures them as best he can by meeting each gaze without flinching. His teeth grit at the worry and questions in Lori's gaze, but he strives for a reassuring smile and moves to give her arm or shoulder a gentle squeeze only to have her flinch away from his fingertips while she clings to Carl until their son squirms away from her to move to the front of the line for food.

The movement doesn't go unnoticed by anyone watching and as everyone is watching; Rick feels a tic in his cheek before he bites down on the muscle to keep from showing any sign of weakness to the inmates.

"That's your lady?" Dexter sidles up to him to ask after Daryl passes into the room leaving Axel standing alone in the ruins of the cell block.

"My wife," Rick bites out, his rejected fingers itching to wrap around the grip of his pistol and take this man out as the threat that he already perceives him to be.

The inmate gives a distracted hum before moving to join Axel in the passageway outside the cafeteria.

"We're all that's left," Rick overheard Axel say as the man took in the carnage. "All this time, I expected he'd come back to let us out and it'd all go back to the way it was, but there's nothing left."

With a show of compassion that gives Rick pause, Dexter puts a heavy hand on the biker's shoulder and squeezes as both their heads drop forward in a prayerful pose.

"What the hell happened?" the Dexter asks Rick as he turns to usher Axel back into the dining hall.

"Not happened," Rick says; "_happening_. Whatever it is, it's far from over," he casts a glance back toward Andrew; "and I believe you said it all started because of _him_."

The group, most of whom had discarded their weapons in favor of plates of food, freezes as Rick's words seem to echo through the cafeteria.

Daryl stuffs a chunk of meatloaf in his mouth with one dirty hand while going for his bow with the other. He has the weapon braced to fire, finger on the trigger and an icy blue eye narrowed down the site to lock aim on Andrew's forehead before his jaw makes a single move to chew the food.

"Ease up there," Dexter growls while straightening to his full height and flexing muscle as he moves to place himself between Andrew and Daryl. "You can't have taken that seriously. Ain't no way Andrew's responsible for that shit out there."

"But I am, Dex, I've told you - "

"And I've told _you_," Dexter interrupts whatever Andrew may have been on the verge of saying. "Everyone's tried to make the same deal at some point in their lives, just because the world went to hell after you said your prayers does _not_ make it your fault."

"Could one of you just tell us what the hell you're talking about before our fingers start getting twitchy?"

Rick joins the inmates in turning to look at Andrea and he bites back an amused snort at seeing her having set aside her tray to aim her Ladysmith at Andrew. Theodore isn't far from her with his own gun cocked and ready to fire at Andrew and/or Dexter should the prisoners prove a threat. Axel, Eugene and Thomas all try to melt into the floor to remove themselves from anything approaching a connection to the couple in the crosshairs.

Dexter looks at the defectors with disgust as he moves to stand behind Andrew and places his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

_Protective,_ Rick files the information away and flags the young man as a potential weakness in Dexter's defenses.

"Tell 'em, Andrew," Dexter encourages, "this lot looks like they could use a good laugh."

"It isn't funny," Andrew shrugs away from the man's touch and folds his thin body in on itself. "You see, it's like this," his eyes dart around the room before he gulps and directs his attention away from his captive audience. "Ok," he exhales a breath and stares at his foot as it begins a jittery dance on the floor. "You see. I was a junkie. Like a hardcore user. _**Hard core**_. Drugs were just…everything. I was a repeat offender, you see? This is my second time in here. My grannie died first time I was in here. She'd always tried to keep me straight with God, you see, and it just killed her to see what addiction had gotten me in to."

Daryl shifts with a huff of impatience that he makes no attempt to mask as he locks gazes with Rick over the inmate's head then gives an eyeroll that warns the deputy that arrows will soon be flying if this story doesn't have a point soon.

"My life was a wreck, y'know?" Andrew continues, blissfully unaware of any danger as he gets caught up in telling his life's story. "All because of the addiction. Pot, meth, coke; I did it all, but heroin? That was the stuff. But it was destroying everything and when my mama died 'cause I'd gotten myself locked up again and then they put me in a cell with …," a shudder goes through his scrawny frame while Dexter's body goes deadly still. "I just…you see, I just couldn't do it anymore, so I turned to God like Gramma always wanted me to. I got down on my knees and I prayed, if you can believe it. I just couldn't function anymore and I couldn't see a way out and so I just _begged_ him to help me. I asked him to _please_ help me get off that smack because I wanted to get clean once and for all, but I knew I couldn't do it without him. Gramma always said the only way to conquer true demons is through Christ, so I prayed for him to help me. I begged him to do something, _anything_, to get me off the drugs and the very next day we started seeing the reports on the news. And look at me now," Andrew looks up with a shaky smile as his fingers pick absently at a scab on his forearm; "I'm completely clean. I haven't had drugs since this began. I haven't even really wanted any, either, not that I could even get my hands on anything if I tried."

"Hell, kid," Daryl snorts as he eases his defensive stances and slings the crossbow back behind him. "You wanna get your hands on drugs, I've got-"

Carol stops that trainwreck with a quick, sharp elbow to Daryl's side. Rick's eyes narrow at the realization that the other man might still have Merle's stash on hand and he makes a mental note to have a talk about that later.

"They say God works in mysterious ways, son, but I sincerely doubt that he'd have taken tough love this far just to answer your prayer," Hershel accompanies the words with a paternal grin that softens the sarcastic comment. "I find myself in agreement with your friend, this isn't your fault."

The elder moves to claim a table to finally sit down and eat the plate of food long gone cold during Andrew's story. Beth, Glenn and Maggie are quick to follow suit and fill up the table without further concern for the inmates.

Carol and T-Dog move a little more cautiously to claim another table and begin eating themselves.

Lori and Carl take a third table; Lori trying to place herself as far from the prisoners as she could while still staying near the others.

Andrea looks to Rick as she tucks her gun back into the waistband of her pants before turning to collect her discarded plate then moving to nudge Michonne toward the table with Carol and Theodore. The newcomer to the group gives Andrea a speaking glance before she grabs a plate of food and moves to sit on a table away from everyone with her back pressed securely to the wall. Andrea scoffs at that as she turns to silently urge Daryl to join her with the others, but he follows Michonne's example and perches alone on a table near the entrance with a keen eye trained on the open doorway for any signs of danger. Andrea sighs at that and finally seats herself with Carol and T-Dog to begin eating.

Rick looks toward the food and feels his gut gurgling with hunger then he looks toward his family and feels his jaw lock as he finds Lori looking at him with one of her many "do something" expressions. He scrubs a tired hand over his jaw and moves to seat himself at the table across from Andrew. Dexter follows suit and settles his bulk down beside the young man while the other inmates relocate to a different table nearby.

"So how is it that you guys got stuck in here?"

"Honest Abe," Axel answers Rick's question. "Only truly decent guard I've ever known," he reflects with a smile that quickly came and went.

"The shit was getting bad," Dexter picks up the topic in more detail. "We were seeing it on the news and the inmates and guards were all on edge. Then it got in. Somehow that shit got in to a maximum security prison and it spread like wildfire. Guards, inmates; it got any and everybody. The last of the surviving staff tried to lock everyone in their cells before they fled, but I guess Abraham knew that we'd starve to death like that, so he locked us in here."

"Probably the last thing he ever did was save our miserable hides," Axel's tone in somber as all the inmates drop their heads in obvious memory of this unknown guard. "Damn fool."

"We kept the news on in here till the power went," Dexter continued after their moment of silence. "Eugene eventually got this," the man wave vaguely toward the dim lights and back toward the kitchen that had prepared the food, "set up, but by the time the lights came back there was nothing to see on the tv. We never heard what started it, what it is or what they're doing to stop it."

"I don't think anyone knows what started it. I was in a coma at the time, so damned if I can help you with that mystery," Rick sighs heavily and drops his head forward to rub at the back of his neck. "We were at the CDC in Atlanta. There was only one doctor left, Jenner, and he had nothing to offer. No idea what it was or how to cure it; all he could tell me is that we've all got it and then he invited us to all 'opt-out' with him when the building self-destructed to vaporize the diseases that had been in the facility to prevent them from getting out when the power failed."

Rick's words cause the inmates to curse with varying degrees of shock and dismay, but the clatter of silverware from a nearby table is all that concerns him as Rick suddenly remembers that not every member of the group had been present for that particular revelation the first time that he had made it. His gaze is apologetic as it locks with Andrea's but her gaze cuts right through the bullshit and freezes the heart of him.

He doesn't see anger or blame or fear or disbelief in her gaze.

He sees nothing; a deep, blue well of it that threatens to drown him.

Carol and Daryl see it at the same time, rising to their feet along with Rick as they remember the brink that Dale had somehow pulled Andrea back from at the CDC. Dale wasn't there to help this time and Rick has no fucking clue what to do if she goes back to that place because there truly is no hope that he can offer her now that she knows that there's no end to look forward to in all of this.

"Andrea," his voice is hoarse, urgent and low; revealing things he didn't give a damn to think about in that moment.

She blinks, a slow sweep of lush eyelashes to briefly conceal the wasteland of her soul.

Then she bolts.

Rick and Daryl both try to block her escape, but she's gone before they can do more than grab for her as she races past.

"I got this," Rick barks to Daryl by way of ordering the other man to stay put as he breaks into a run to give chase to the blonde.

He races through the cellblock without thought or care for the darkness until he breaks out into the momentarily blinding brightness of the world outside the prison. He blinks and squints against the glare of the setting sun and resists the urge to shout for her as he waits for his eyes to focus in search for her in the yard. He finds her doubled over and clinging to the chain-link fencing of the gate. He says nothing as he approaches slowly; cautiously, taking care not to step in or overtly acknowledge the undigested food that she'd vomited up on the pavement.

Her head lifts at his approach, but she doesn't look at him. Her gaze locks on something beyond the fence and he follows her eyes to see a trio of zombies straggling out of the woods and making their way to the perimeter fence. Just three to join the few strays that had been out in the field when they drove in, but they both knew that the number would grow. The damned things seem to have a sense for such things; they just knew where livings things were and they flocked there in hope of feeding.

"You've known all this time," she whispers; voice a broken rasp from her emotions and having been physically ill.

"Jenner told me before we left Atlanta, but I didn't _know_ until Shane," he confesses honestly, raising a hand to thread his fingers through the chain links a little higher than hers. "Jenner was bent by the time we got to him, I couldn't trust what he said in that state of mind. I thought…I wanted to believe that he was just shoveling shit to try and convince me to stay so we'd all die with him."

He drops his head forward to press against the fence, feeling the tickle of her hair blowing against his skin and wishing that he had the right to pull her closer to afford them both some comfort.

"I stabbed Shane and then he came back and Carl shot him and then I knew that Jenner hadn't been mindfucking me; he'd been trying to make me see why _his mind_ had gotten so fucked." He allows his fingers to release the fence and slip downward until he feels the warmth of her skin under his then he curls his hand around hers and holds tightly. "Even _knowing_, I still would have left there."

He steps closer when she doesn't tense or pull herself away from his hand and he curls his other arm around her waist to pull her back against him. He presses his face into her loosening ponytail and concedes that they both really need to bathe even as he relishes the silky feel of those blonde strands against his skin.

"It just isn't in me to accept that there is no hope as long as I have and see _life._ That's something to fight for. It might not be enough, but-"

She turns in his arms and cuts him off with the softness of her expression as she looks at him.

"It'll have to do," her lip quirks wryly as she adds her own twist to his sentiment. "I'm just processing. It's a lot to take in."

She makes to pull away and his every instinct is to prevent it; to hold her tight and close to make sure she doesn't slip from his grasp and sight once more. He stifles that, though, and forces his hands to release so the she can pace away. He watches her hug herself as she quietly walks around the fence of the inner courtyard. After what feels like an eternity despite it having only been minutes, she returns to his side and draws to a stop with a heavy sigh. Her eyes go back to the fields outside the fencing and she stares at the Walkers snapping and snarling back at her as they flail against the chain-link that keeps them out.

"So we fight."

"With this prison, we've got a chance now," he nods, ignoring the meager threat and focusing on retaining her support. "The fence and these walls will keep them out and we've food to last the winter, we just need to hold this ground."

"Promise me something," she turns her gaze up to his. "Promise me that if that field fills with zombies and these fences fail; promise me you'll save at least one bullet for my brain and use it before I have a chance to die any other way."

"I never would have pegged you as a 'suicide by cop' type."

"Before all this, I never knew me as a suicide type period. I'll fight, Rick. I'll fight beside you and for you and die doing it if that's as it should be, but if the fight is lost, I need to know that it will be truly over for me in the end. I've got my own gun, I can do it myself, but I'm not trusting my own judgment here. I'm not asking you to kill me when I've given up; I'm begging you to end it for me when _you_ give up."

"I won't ever do that."

"Then we don't have anything to worry about," she grips his face between her palms and refuses to let him look away from her eyes. "Promise me."

He drops his forehead against hers and slowly wraps his arms around her.

"I promise that if the day comes that there's no other way, I'll kill us all."

* * *

A/N: While that has a ring of finality to it and Gods know I'd love to mark this complete and have one less TWD WIP glaring at me, I'm not ending this on that note. I make no promises when more will come, but I've not abandoned this fic, I'll just be drawing almost entirely from the comics from here on out. There are at least two vital scenes that I've always planned for this series and I will not give up until I've gotten those done. Thank you all for staying with me & liking what I've put out there with this.


	14. Chapter 14

Rick rushes through a quick bite to eat after returning with Andrea to the cafeteria. Lori's eyes have been on him since he moved back into the room and he wonders what it is that she's seeing as she stares; what words are forming in her head to be spoken to him. He knows that she has something to say just from the intensity of her gaze and the almost palpable tension in her slender form as she hovers over Carl.

The others have all gotten their fill and remain gathered together in separate groups with everyone treating the strangers in their midst with a weary suspicion unlikely to just magically disappear after their short acquaintance. Michonne, Daryl and the prisoner, Eugene, all keep to themselves; observing all and interacting with none. Rick makes a mental note to have words with the loner in Dexter's group and get a feel for the man to see if he can be of use to their group.

He finishes his food and takes the dishes to Carol as she collects what they've used and prepares to clean up after them. Axel crosses over the invisible lines drawn between the groups and moves to show her where the inmates have stored their cleaning supplies and explain how Eugene has things set up so that they can wash dishes. Somehow, that leads to the revelation that they've got a similar system for washing themselves and everyone perks up at the prospect of a chance to really clean up for the first time in the few days since losing the farm.

"Before we get to that," he speaks up to cut through the growing chatter, "we've got to shut this place down before we lose the sunlight. We need to get up the tiers and take out anything rattling these cages then make sure we bolt every door we can to make sure nothing gets in on us during the night."

Daryl and Michonne move closer to the group, clearly eager for activity and ready for an assignment to make themselves useful. Rick looks around to Dexter and sees the inmate eying him closely.

"I'd appreciate it if you could throw in on this," Rick approaches the other man. "You know this prison, you can show us where the keys are. Helping us helps you," he cocks his head to the side in challenge. "Unless you've liked being sealed up in this cafeteria with nothing but yourselves to look forward to."

"Keys won't be a problem if you can get to the guard's room and the front of the row," Axel volunteers; "you'll have access to all the controls in the wing from there. Most of the shit's gone automatic, which sucks for us given the lack of electricity, but maybe now that we're out our Genie boy can take care of that."

Eugene raises his head to look around nervously as all eyes look toward him and he runs a hand over his mullet cut hairstyle then sits up straight in the center of their attention.

"I can do it," he says confidently. "This place has backup generators for the backup generators, we just need to get to them to restore power. We can have lights again. Hot water to actually shower with."

"Those generators are in the basements," Dexter warns. "Gotta get through C and D blocks to get there."

"We'll make that our first priority for morning, then," Rick decrees then moves to stand nearer to Axel since the man seems more agreeable to helping. "For now, we're losing the light and I want those keys."

The group huddles up with Axel and Andrew moving to join them in wait of an assignment.

"We'll keep it simple. Two groups. Andrea, Daryl, Michonne, T-Dog, you're with me to clear out the tiers and get to the guard's nest. Glenn, Hershel, Maggie; I want you to get the doors. Start with the first one we came through and make sure they're sealed as tightly as possible. That loading dock door isn't coming down without power, so find whatever entryway there is from there to here and make sure it's blocked."

He deliberately left the inmates off the duty roster so as not to appear overly presumptuous.

"Axe, Andy; you make sure they get all those doors shut," Dexter steps up to instruct his group. "I'm with you," he turns to grin at Rick.

_Wouldn't have it any other way_, he thinks.

"I appreciate that," is what he says to the prisoner. "Rest of you," he looks to the others, focusing more on Carol than Lori, "see what you can do about bedding. We'll be hunkering down in here for the night and while this is already a damned sight better than the cold ground; I'd still like something actually resembling a blanket to sleep under."

"We've been making do with laundry – towels and whatnot," Eugene moves to volunteer. "With access to things outside this room, though, we can easily get the mattresses out of the cells. It might even be a good idea to move into the cells to sleep."

There's no offer of or more to assistance from Thomas and Dexter doesn't seem inclined to volunteer the other inmate for any tasks, so Rick considers the assignments set and gives a nod to put his team into motion. He goes through the motions of checking the chamber of his Colt even though he hasn't a bullet to put in the gun at the moment. He sees no reason for the inmates to know that their weapons are virtually useless after all the ammunition they've gone through after facing that herd.

"How many of these things have you killed?" he asks Dexter as he clicks the chamber back in place and holsters the weapon.

"You kill one thing, you're good to pretty much kill anything."

A sharp inhalation off to his left draws Rick's attention long enough for him to see Lori's horrified expression as she grabs at Carl's shoulders to try drawing them further away from the prisoners at the man's thinly veiled admission to a murder conviction resulting in his imprisonment. He ignores her because he can't afford to acknowledge that the news actually shocks anyone.

"I'll take that as a 'none,'" Rick counters. "We're going to do this with blunt force; keep things quick and quiet. Go for the head; only destroying the brain will stop them."

"Good to know," the inmate looks around at the others as they begin swapping out their guns for edged and blunt weaponry. "Might help to get me some of that."

Daryl snorts at the subtle request for a weapon and moves to the dishes to grab a metal fork.

"Prison rules," he states as he shoves the fork into Dexter's hand; "I'm sure you can manage a shank from this."

The man's indignant expression as he gapes at the utensil is enough to have Rick exchanging amused glances with Daryl and Andrea in turn. Resisting the urge to laugh out loud, he draws his hunting knife and turns to lead the way out of the room.

"Rick," Lori moves to stop him with her fingers digging into his forearm as her expression demands his attention.

He stifles a sigh and turns to give a silent signal to Daryl for him to take the others on out without him. After they've moved out into the corridor to carry out their assignments, Rick allows himself to be led to a far corner of the cafeteria for the 'conversation' that his wife so clearly needs to have.

"You can't seriously be doing this," she hisses in a low whisper. "These people are criminals; _that __**man**_ all but told us that he's in here for murder. _**Murder, Rick.**_ They could all be murders for all we know, or rapists or pedophiles. Your family is here; you're endangering your wife and _our children_ _**again**_ and for what?"

"For sanctuary," he bites out. "I know exactly what's at stake here and I am doing everything I can to protect _**my family**_. All I do is to keep you and Carl safe."

"How does locking us in with convicts accomplish that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lori? Kill them just because they're wearing prison jumpsuits?"

The idea has been there since he broke into the cafeteria to find survivors, but he just didn't see them as threats yet and couldn't justify killing them all without reason. They just didn't have the bullets to spare and the inmates might prove useful. Dexter will need a close eye on him, but the others seemed agreeable enough to mix into their group so long as they realized and accepted Rick to be in charge.

"If that's what you think is best," Lori surprises him from his thoughts.

He scrubs a hand over his unshaven face to conceal the sudden dropping of his jaw as he realizes the leeway that he's just been given.

"You're saying you want these guys dead?"

"I'm saying that I'm not comfortable with this. I'm saying," she edges in closer and tentatively places her hand on his chest, "that we're stuck in an ever-worsening nightmare and all I care about is keeping our children safe. I know that I've been a shitty wife and I'm not likely to win mother of the year, but you've gotten us this far and I want to believe you're making the right decisions. I have to believe that now."

Her hand and gaze drifts away from him and he knows without doubt that her mind has gone to Shane; perhaps even her heart. It doesn't hurt him anymore, not the way that it should to be faced with the knowledge of his wife's infidelity with his former best friend.

"The world isn't what it used to be. I don't know if it will ever get back to any measure of what it was," she continues after a moment. "I'm still working on accepting that. I don't know when or if I'll ever really adapt to …," she casts a look around the interior of the prison with her gaze lingering on Thomas as the inmate remains sitting alone as he watches the other, "adapt to _this_, but if killing these strangers is what it takes to be safe within these walls, then do it. Do it now."

"So far Dexter's the only one I worry about. Axel's a lifer, he's used to rolling over for new leadership to stay alive in prison; he could be an asset. Andrew's nothing more than a junkie, but he seems helpful and we could use help getting this place set up to live in. Eugene seems to be a smart one; rigging up the power and water in here – we need that, too. I can't get a read on that one," he nods towards Thomas and narrows his eyes at the way the man seems to be watching Beth. "I'm not killing anyone. Not yet."

She stares at him with something like disbelief, but says nothing as she turns away to go to Carl. He watches their son shrug off her hands when she tries to draw the boy close and he feels a pang at the knowledge of how broken their family really is now. He wants to blame Shane; that'd be the easy out. Blaming Lori wouldn't exactly be wrong, but it sure as hell wasn't right either. They'd all tried so hard to hold it together that is just shattered under the pressure without them realizing the damage until too late. Now all Rick could do is try to shield Carl from the fallout and try limiting further destruction.

He grits his teeth, sheathes his knife then stalks out into the hallway to find in search of a fallen prison guard to take a baton from. The Billy club is familiar in his grip even if he never had cause to use the one that he'd been issued as a Deputy Sheriff. He swings the barrel of the baton to rest along the underside of his forearm and takes a moment to listen to the sounds of clanging metal, shuffling feet and dropping corpses. He looks to the walkway above and sees the others moving their way down the cells, occasionally darting forward to take care of the Walkers caged above.

He picks up the pace to get to the stairs at the end of the row and takes them two at a time in his hurry to catch up with the others. Michonne's in the lead, making quick work of putting the zombies down with a single plunge of her katana through the foreheads of the things as they practically lined up for her to execute them. Andrea, T-Dog, Dexter then Daryl follow behind, mostly just there in case back-up is needed.

Seeing how smoothly the process is going, Rick moves past the others to tap Theodore and Andrea and the shoulder to send them below to help the others in securing the entrances to the wing. As they move quietly from the second to third tier, Daryl moves to a position in front of Dexter when Rick falls to the back to keep his eye on the inmate.

The guard's nest is at the top of the block; a flight of rickety stairs above the fourth tier then across a narrow catwalk. Rick keeps his focus divided between that ultimate goal and the back of Dexter's shaven head.

He could easily make it look like an accident, a little trip and nudge from the fourth tier to tumble the criminal to the floor below. He could move them toward the front then 'stumble' into Dexter's back to knock the felon into the grasping hands of the Walkers to allow them to tear a chunk out of the man so that killing him would be justified. He could just flip the baton around and swing for the vulnerable sweet spot at the base of the man's skull to bring the big guy to his knees for Rick to beat out his frustrations until the body's a bloody pulp that poses threat to no one.

Daryl tenses to fire a bolt at a moving corpse among a tangle of bodies blocking their progress as Michonne decapitates the pair of Walkers pushing to get through the narrow opening of a cell kept from closing by a fallen inmate.

Dexter jostles forward at the increase in action, clearly seeking a piece of it. Rick watches him move to the front, eager to see what the fool can do with nothing more than the fork in his meaty fist. A Walker stumbles out of a neighboring cell to thud into the man's side and Dexter responds by shoving the thing away then stabbing it with the fork. To the chest.

_Dumbass._

The zombie is unfazed by the silverware protruding from its heart and Rick sighs as Dexter follows up the stabbing with a series of punches to the Walker's stomach and ribs. Rick's at peace with the idea of the thing biting a chunk out of the idiot, but he's failed to clue Michonne in on that fact and she puts an end to the stupidity by thrusting her katana past Dexter's shoulder to plunge through the zombie's head to effectively cease its movements.

"The head," she tells the man with cool contempt as she pulls the blade back and gives it an expert flick to knock off some of the gore from the kill. "It has to be the head or you may as well expose your throat to them."

She shoulders past the man with no regard for his bulk or menacing expression and Rick is definitely keeping her around. Daryl pushes past the convict to retrieve his arrow and reload the bolt in his crossbow before continuing on his way.

"Word of advice," Rick offers as he moves to follow them onward to the fourth tier; "when we offer you a word of advice, take it as gospel and be damned grateful we wasted our breath to give it to you. because we'll only save your worthless ass once before you've gotta do it all on your own."

He finds himself no longer caring what the inmate might get up to as there are greater priorities for the fading day. If Dexter doesn't get his ass eaten by zombies, Rick will worry about killing him after he's got possession of the keys that will grant him full access to and control of the prison. Once Rick has that control, he'll have the whole group's confidence in him restored.


	15. Chapter 15

Rick finds it hard not to swagger on the return trip to the cafeteria. The keys to the prison weigh heavy against his hip from their clip on his pants and the guard's baton tucked through his belt is an old, nearly forgotten friend. With the Colt holstered on his hip opposite the keys and billy club, he feels like an officer of the law again. He's unwashed and unshaven; his uniform filthy and his hat still with Carl, but he feels like Deputy Grimes again for the first time in ages. He has purpose and the means to seeing his job done.

It's a heady feeling that straightens his spine and strengthens his stride as he follows the group down from the tiers.

He knows that he can lead them all now; protect them, so long as he can just hold this shelter for them.

Dexter's quiet, has been since he nearly lost a chunk of his ankle to a Walker that had been sprawled across the catwalk to the guard's booth. Daryl and Rick have both been watching the inmate, but haven't seen a need yet to kill the man. Daryl had let him know, though, that he would only need a nod from Rick to take the convict out if needed.

So long as Rick has the keys, though, and their group has all the real weapons; Dexter poses no threat to them.

They find the others sorting out bedding in the corridor outside the cells, using flashlights to compensate for the twilight outside. Everyone is there and the gate at the end of the corridor is closed shut to indicate that things went well enough in the sealing off of the block. He moves to the nearest flashlight and borrows it from Glenn so that he can flick through the keyring for the one that locks that gate. Some of the keys have labels to indicate their purpose, but most are blank or coded in a way that only the prison guards would have known as a precaution were the inmates ever to get access to the keys.

"We'll have to sort through these," Rick sighs, giving the flashlight back and letting the keyring drop to jangle against his side. "Get them organized and labeled so we know what the hell's what."

He looks toward the gate and feels a dent in his resurgence of confidence as he realizes that he can't safely lock them in for the night. He sighs and props his hands on hips while surveying the group.

"We'll have to wait until tomorrow to get it locked down," he moves hand to scratch at his jaw.

"All the doors clicked shut, so we really don't need to worry about anything getting through without locking up tonight," Glenn assures him. "I don't think anything out _there_ is a real threat, right now." He turns to lean in closer to Rick. "Are we really trusting these guys? That Axel guy's been hitting on all the girls and there's no telling how long they've been without females. We don't even know what they were in here for."

The words echo Lori's concerns and Rick feels his ego dip further at the questioning of his judgment.

"I'm handling it," Rick growls as he moves toward the larger gathering of the group. "We should wrap this up now, move into the cafeteria for the night and save these lights."

Most everyone moves to comply without hesitation; Daryl and Michonne joining in to heft mattresses and bedding deemed usable by the others.

Lori doesn't follow their example.

Rick feels another measure of his optimism falling away as she tucks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and leans a shoulder against the frame of the open cell she's standing in. Her eyes track Carl as he follows Beth into the cafeteria; carrying a musty old mattress between them. Rick doesn't miss the way her eyes dart into the cafeteria to the table just visible through the doorway. Dexter's taken a seat at that table and positioned himself to look right back out at them.

"It's been a long day," Rick moves into her line of sight and puts a hand on her shoulder. "You should get in there and rest. Eat something," _please_, he thinks as he feels little more than bone under his fingers.

"We squared away a few cells before the light faded," she turns to look back into the dark confines behind her. "I've called the bottom bunk here. Room enough for Carl and I to share."

"There's no light out here," he argues. "We're not sleeping here when they've got food and lights in the cafeteria."

"I'm not sleeping out in the open with them," she pulls away from his hand. "The others agree. Carol's going to take the top bunk. Beth and Maggie will be in the cell beside us. There's a third one three down that's fairly decent, but Andrea's one of the "guy's" so she declined the offer of her own cell. Haven't had a chance to see if Michonne would like the added security."

"Security?" Rick scoffs. "From what?"

"That's just it, Rick," she hisses as she pushes forward to glare at him. "We don't know. We've no idea _what_ we need to fear about these men. They could do anything to us while we're sleeping. They could all be murders and rapists, for all we know, and you're just tucking us all in bed with them."

"If that's your worry, we'll put _them_ in the cells," he argues. "They're used to it. Might even appreciate being back in bunks after the floor they're been making do on."

"You're just going to ask and they'll come out here all docile like to be caged again?" she scoffs, hugging herself. "What good would it even do if you can't even get these cells to lock?"

"Can we not argue about this?" he whispers, sensing the others paying attention to them now that things have been moved into the cafeteria. "It's been a long day and tomorrow will be just as hard clearing this place out and getting power back up. Can you just trust me? We'll sleep in shifts, someone always on guard, just like always."

"I'm not arguing," she sighs. "I'm more comfortable out here. _We _are more comfortable out here," she looks past him and he turns to see Beth, Carol and Maggie watching the scene closely with Glenn and Hershel standing to offer their support for the decision.

"Fine," Rick snaps and steps aside to wave Carol forward. "Get provisions for the night, make sure you've got light and keep your weapons close," he instructs the women. "First sign of _any_ kind of trouble, you come get us."

"We moved things around earlier," Carol assures him as she move past him with some caution to stand beside Lori. "Everything's ready, we were just waiting until everyone got back."

Rick watches Beth and Maggie moving toward their cell carrying one of the few lanterns that had been in the Silverado. He moves to stand with Glenn and Hershel.

"You're ok with this?" he asks the elder.

"I suggested it," Hershel meets his gaze unflinchingly. "This is a good place, Rick. A haven. We'll learn to share it, but for now there's no harm in exercising caution. I don't know these men to entrust them with my girls."

"Lori," Rick clears his throat then lowers his voice as much as possible, aware of the various eyes and ears upon him. "Lori thinks I should kill them."

"That's not an easy decision to make," Hershel gives him a considering look. "It is your decision to make and your actions to account for. _You_ I entrust with all of our lives. You'll find the right way."

His hand claps familiarly on Rick's shoulder, but he offers no guidance and Rick feels his back molars grind at that.

"Andrea and Michonne have declined the third cell," Hershel changes tact and looks to Glenn nearby. "We're going to take the third cell. Keep our eyes on things out here."

"I'll keep the door open, give you all as much light as we can from the cafeteria," Rick offers as the men move toward their chosen beds.

"All things considered, Rick, I'd appreciate it if you didn't," Hershel pauses to look back toward the inmates. "Shut the door, barricade it for the night. Watch your backs in there."

Rick nods his acceptance of the instruction and stays in the corridor until their cell door clangs shut followed shortly by the gate to Beth and Maggie's cell.

Lori's still standing in the opening of her cage, staring toward the cafeteria. Rick follows her gaze and sees Carl standing firmly between Daryl and Andrea just inside the doorway. She shoots him a look that clearly blames him for the distance between her and their son then she moves forward.

"Come on, now," she puts her arm around Carl's shoulder. "Time to say goodnight."

Carl looks up at her then to Rick before casting a glance back toward the others in the cafeteria. He turns to wrap his arms briefly around her waist.

"Goodnight, mom," he says as he pulls away from her to join T-Dog in sitting at a table to watch Michonne as she appears to be cleaning her sword.

Lori doesn't make a sound to express her hurt, but Rick sees the tremor in her arm as it drops to hang uselessly at her side. Andrea and Daryl both look to him for a moment before turning to enter the cafeteria and give them a bit more privacy.

"He's growing up," Rick tries to soften the blow of Carl's choice. "He has to learn to stand on his own."

"You think killing Shane has helped him learn that lesson?" she gives him a look that's part accusing glare, but more wounded spirit.

"I never would have wanted him to have to do that, but what's done is done. We're not rehashing that."

"We're a long way from having _hashed it_ to begin with," she sighs and turns back toward her cell. "Goodnight, Rick."

The clanging of the cell door echoes eerily in the prison and Rick's shoulders slouch for a moment in the shadows.

"Goodnight, Lori," he forces out. "We'll start at first light," he tells them all. "Sleep well."

_We'll need it_, he moves out of the hall and pulls the cafeteria door shut behind him.

The light in the room is dimming and he looks around with a frown as Eugene and Axel move to shut down many of the lights rigged around the space.

"I'd prefer to have those on for the night," he strides forward, hands on hips within easy reach of his gun and the baton.

"So would we," Dexter scoffs from his seat at a table with Andrew and Thomas. "This is prison, man. Lights out is still lights _out_."

"It's solar," Eugene offers in explanation. "There was this green initiative not too long ago. They put panels on the roof with some idea of alternate energy powering the whole place to reduce costs. Never produced enough energy, so they cut the funding, but the groundwork was laid."

"It seems to be working well enough," Rick looks pointedly at the lights and thinks of the cooked meal not long behind them.

"Was light out," the inmate shrugs. "The charge goes quickly after sunset. If we get storms or too much cloud cover, we've gone days in darkness. You picked a good day to show up."

"How'd you rig this up?" Daryl asks curiously as he finishes making up his 'bed' for the night.

"Breaker box in the kitchen is hooked to any and every source of power they had. I just tweaked it to keep the solar power in here," the man shrugs again then moves off to a lone pallet in a far corner. "Rearranged a few fixtures to limit and optimize usage. Made do with what I have."

"What do you think you'll be able to do once we get the generators going?"Rick asks as the man settles down with his back tightly pressed to the wall.

Eugene smiles; a giddy, excited and childish grin that nearly breaks his face, "I can do anything I put my mind to."

Rick huffs out a laugh at that, not fully knowing how he should take the response, but liking it nonetheless.

"Before you all turn in for the night," Rick rolls his shoulders and gives his group a speaking glance that brings them carefully to their feet. "We're going to need to know exactly what you did to get here."

Andrea moves to stand near Carl, protective even as the kid tips his head curiously to the side to watch whatever scene might unfold. Michonne stands with her eyes on the table where Andrew, Dexter and Thomas sit. Daryl sets his eyes on Axel as that one leans against the wall and T-Dog focuses on Eugene to allow Rick to keep his attention darting over all the inmates.

"Double homicide," Dexter pushes to his feet to meet Rick's gaze levelly.

"Got me for a chop shop," Axel offers affably.

"Drugs," Andrew twitches, eyes darting between the growing tension in Dexter and Rick. "Possession, selling, stealing. Drugs. But I've already told you that's done. I'm clean now."

Daryl snorts at that and Rick flicks a glance at his friend.

"Tax fraud," Thomas speaks up with a careless look over his shoulder, "but it wasn't my fault."

"I didn't do it," Eugene says when all eyes turn to him. "The government's been conspiring against me ever since I found out they've been experimenting on us with additives in the water supply. I told them that experimentation could lead to catastrophe and look at us now. They set me up, put me in here and the world went to hell. I could have stopped it, you know? I bet I could have figured out what they did before it got this bad."

The glance Rick and Daryl exchange at that is mildly disturbed by the hint of crazy in the words.

"Don't care what they popped you for," Daryl shakes off any disquiet and turns his icy stare on each inmate in turn. "What the hell did you _do?_"

"Just the drugs, man," Andrew shakes a bit under the stare. "I swear, that's more than enough."

"Armed robbery, before this bid," Axel moves to settle on his bedding. "Several D&Ds, B&E, assault when I was younger. Been some drugs here and there. Nothing serious, just repeat offenses. I don't rape and I won't kill unless I have to."

"Killed my cheating wife and the bastard I caught her with. I've got some domestics on my jacket, assault, grand theft auto, burglary – most of that was juvie shit," Dexter admits with an easing of his combative stance. "Look, you're not the rescue we were hoping for, but you're people; survivors, and we're glad to see that. We're not animals looking to maul or mount you the second you show us your backs. We've held it together in here and we'll be happy to add you in to our mix so long as you show some respect and remember that you've come on my turf _not_ the other way around."

Andrea's posture eases at the man's words and she offers him a sympathetic smile before moving to Rick's side.

"I think we can do that," she puts a hand on his arm and looks at the others. "It's been a long day and we're all on edge. Let's just relax. We'll figure the rest out as we go."

Whatever Eugene and Thomas may have done gets put aside as everyone seems agreeable to the idea of just bedding down.

"You got lights for when the power fails?" Rick asks with a look around the room.

"Batteries are long dead on anything that we had," Axel laughs and shuffles around his bedding until he pulls out a Magnum flashlight, prison guard issue more than likely.

"We'll use what we have sparingly," he says to his group. "I want a watch. Four hour shifts, last one on wakes everyone else first sign of daylight."

"I'll take the first one," Daryl volunteers, eying Dexter as the man moves to the mattress he'd set in a corner.

"Wake me when you're done," T-Dog gives the redneck a nod then turns toward his own makeshift bed.

"Wake me for the last one," Rick orders, "I'll see that we're up on time."

Andrew moves to the same corner as Dexter while Thomas stays seated at the table. Rick looks around and can't really tell where that man bedded down. He doesn't like not knowing that. There's a collection of mattresses and bedding near the chow line and that's where Andrea and Carl go. Michonne moves to sit back atop a table, pulling a stone from her bag and beginning the process of sharpening the blade of her katana.

"Daryl's got this for now," Rick tells her. "Get yourself a bed and sleep."

"Would have been a time that I'd say that I'll sleep when I'm dead, but the dead don't seem to be resting either, so I'll just stay here. Rest my eyes if I need to," she flicks a glance toward Andrea then the others before going back to sharpening her sword.

Feeling that he'd at least done his part in having tried, Rick moves to join Andrea and Carl on the mattresses. He tries not to feel unfaithful as she smiles up at him in greeting as she untucks the gun from her waistband and sets it aside for comfort. Carl takes off his hat and settles it atop the discarded weapon and Rick takes a moment to muss his son's hair.

"You'll go bald if you keep that thing on," he warns as he unbuckles his belt and carefully places his weapons within easy reach. The keys stay on him. He'll sleep on his opposite side tonight to keep the metal from digging into him.

They lay down, fully dressed, with Carl between them and begin shifting pillows and blankets around to get comfortable for the night. His hand connects with Andrea's arm and they both freeze in the process of fluffing a pillow. She looks at him then at Carl and quickly pulls away to leave the cushion in Rick's care. She beds down with her back to him and he considers moving the keys to his other side so that he can roll to face the wall.

"This mattress smells like pee," Carl declares after planting his face in the bed as he attempts to sprawl on his stomach as he does whenever he's given room to spread out.

Andrea rolls on to her back at that, laughing as she finds Carl pushing up to his hands and knees to stare down at his mattress with distaste.

"It could smell of worse things," she reminds, ruffling his hair and pulling him down against her side.

"You don't smell much better," Carl's only half joking as he pulls away from her to flop on to his back on the smelly mattress.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll get to some showers," Rick offers. "Get to the laundry room and see about washing the beds."

"Can beds be washed?" Carl rolls to his side to ask curiously.

"Not exactly," Rick's mouth twists into a half-smile, "but we'll think of something."

"We'll need to get to clearing the bodies out, too. Start some fires to burn the corpses," Andrea whispers, meeting his gaze over Carl's shoulder.

"There's a lot to be done. Our first priority is getting the power back on."

That is, of course, the exact moment that the solar charge dies out and the lights inside the room go dark. Carl jumps slightly at the sudden darkness and Rick automatically puts his hand out to sooth his son. He finds another hand already there and turns his palm upward to clasp Andrea's fingers in a loose hold across Carl's midriff. Her fingers squeeze his and don't pull away as Daryl and Michonne turn on the few flashlights that the group has in the room. Carl's hand comes down to rest atop theirs and they freeze as the boy shifts then settles between them.

"Night, dad," he mumbles, "night, Andrea."

"Goodnight, Carl."

"Night, son," Rick says in the echo of Andrea's softly spoken words.

He doesn't seek out her eyes in the darkness, just keeps his hand clasped with hers under the Carl's small hand until they all three fall asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Something nudges against Rick's shoulder, but his sleep is sound and he does not want it to end yet so he shrugs the thing away. It returns to jostle him and the synapses in his brain fire painfully to life to remind him where he is.

Without opening his eyes he tries to go for the Python on his hip, but something stays his hand. He lurches awake; tearing his hand back from what he will belatedly realize was Andrea's hand then reeling around to see the threat against him. He staggers to his feet, grabbing at his hip as he rises and threatens Michonne with a fist full of keys.

The cafeteria is dark, but in the glow from her flashlight he can see the way that she raises a brow at his response then very calmly raises her hands to show that she's no threat. Realization sinks in and Rick lets the keys drop with a jangle against his hip as he scrubs his hands over his face and gives himself a sharp slap to fully wake.

"Sorry," his voice is gruff with sleep and dryness. "Could really use a cup of coffee right now."

"The sun's only just on the verge of rising. I'm afraid coffee will have to wait," she lowers her arms upon seeing his senses regained.

"Where's T-Dog?"

"Resting his eyes," she shines her flashlight toward the wall where the man in question is sitting and snoring softly in sleep.

Andrea and Carl stir behind them at the disturbance.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah," Rick assures as he drops to a knee beside Carl. "Go back to sleep, we've got a little longer before daylight."

He doesn't take his own advice as he gathers his belt to buckle it back around his waist. Michonne squats down beside him, bracing her elbows on her knees and dangling the flashlight between them.

"Given all that we need to accomplish, I thought it best to get a start before dawn. Put together a plan of attack to put into action as soon as light comes."

"Good idea," Rick nods, settling his gun and the baton on his hip. "Any problems during the night?"

"The white one never sought a bed," she reports quietly. "Stayed seated at the table all night. Damned creepy."

"Thomas?" Rick instinctively looks toward the table where the inmates had been sitting the night before, but he can't see anything through the darkness.

"And the others?"

"Axel talks in his sleep and from the words that I overheard, he dreams of sex. Eugene whimpers a good bit, restless sleeper. Lot of whispering between Andrew and Dexter, but nothing I could overhear aside from the mention of C Block then some personal drama I could stand to unheard."

"What's your take on Dexter and Thomas?" Rick keeps his voice low to match hers.

"Thomas and Eugene both strike me as crazy white guys, but it's early yet. I thought the same thing about you at first," her grin flashes in the shadows. "Dexter's an alpha. He likely ran this block and is not at all likely to just roll over for us to have it. So long as we keep them away from weapons, they're no threat. We outnumber them."

"I agree," Andrea moves in to contribute, clearly awake for the day and not willing to be left out. "He spoke a good game last night about respect, but I think Dexter's just looking for an opportunity to take charge. Eugene and Thomas, though, they may be a different kind of threat. Axel, too, for that matter. Too long without females. They've been doing a lot of looking."

There's a tension in the way that she says that and Rick's body goes stiff.

"Have they tried anything with you?"

"No," she's quick to assure him. "Just…looking. Axel's pretty upfront about it, so I really don't work about him. He strikes me as the type to not mind a swing and a miss on the sex front. The other two are secretive about it. Eugene's like a schoolboy; all darting glances and pretending not to be interested. Thomas…well, he's just damned creepy," she huffs out a laugh and exchanges a glance with Michonne.

"Should we kill them?"

Both women go still at the question and any amusement fades from the glances they exchange.

"Is that what we do now?" Andrea looks at him curiously. "I thought we didn't kill the living."

"We protect our own," Rick states, looking away from her.

"I agree with that. I understand Shane and those guys that you killed from Randall's group, but what's the point of survival if we lose humanity? We kill these guys and then what? Kill anyone who comes here for help? Kill anyone who isn't one of us? Where would we be if Hershel had that attitude? I know I'd be dead if not for Michonne and you'd still be trapped in a tank in Atlanta if not for Glenn. We need to keep some faith that good still exists in people. Don't we?" She looks to Michonne for support.

"We watch them. Yesterday went well enough, no one got killed or attacked in the night; let's see how things play out today," the woman states pragmatically. "Any of them get out of line, there's plenty of _accidents_ that could befall them as we clear out this prison."

Rick accepts their counsel with a nod, glad to see Michonne on the same page as he. The woman pushes to stand and leaves them to go wake Daryl and T-Dog. Andrea moves closer in the darkness.

"What does Lori think?"

"She told me that she's support my killing them all, _if I think that's what's best_, then she shut herself in a cell to sleep because I didn't kill anyone. Seems to think I've endangered her and our _children._"

"None of us are about to let anything happen to Carl, especially after Sophia, and it's the same for that baby that she carries," Andrea's hand finds his shoulder in the darkness. "You're not a murderer, Rick, but killing these men without reason would make you one. None of us are overly comfortable with the fact that they're inmates, but this _is_ a prison so it was bound to happen. We need to focus, though, on the fact that they're survivors in all of this, just like us. We have to give them a chance."

The beam of a flashlight alerts them to Daryl's approach and her hand falls away. T-Dog and Michonne join them after a minute.

"How we gonna play this?" Daryl asks in their huddle.

"Carefully," Rick replies, looking at them each in turn. "We watch them and we watch each others' backs. You see or hear anything fishy, you don't hesitate; take 'em out."

They all nod at the mandate then turn to look toward the inmates.

"Go wake the others," Rick urges Andrea. "See what all you can find here to be used as weapons," he instructs the others.

He takes the flashlight from Michonne then moves to wake the prisoners – _no, _he corrects himself forcibly, _the __**survivors**_.

Eugene is closest; he wakes with a startled yelp and crawls to brace his back against the wall before he realizes who woke him and relaxes just a little. Axel is next and he responds to the attempted wake-up with a grunt and sleep-slurred, "fuck off."

Thomas is still sitting at the table, slumped over it with his head lying on his arms to cushion it on the surface. Rick thinks the man to be sleeping, but draws his hand back sharply with the inmate speaks.

"I prefer not to be touched," Thomas says calmly as he lifts his head. "I'm sure you understand," he casts a look over his shoulder. "Only one of two endings tends to come from someone sneaking up behind you in prison and I hope to avoid them both."

"Fair enough," Rick backs away and files the man's reaction in the back of his mind.

"I don't see daylight yet," Dexter says from the shadows as Rick approaches his corner.

"We like to get as much of a jump as we can, when we can," Rick answers as the pair pushes to their feet. "I'd like to get more information on what to expect today. I'd appreciate your input on the layout of the prison so we can plan the best route and course of action. Power is my priority today, so we need to get those generators running or figure out anything that's needed to get them going."

The others make their way in from the cells and everyone moves to gather around a central table. Lori looks around the group and immediately goes stiff.

"Carl?" she calls out sharply.

"Still sleeping," Rick shushes her and points the beam of his flashlight toward their sleeping child.

She immediately moves in that direction without another word.

Dexter sits down at the table and Rick joins him, placing his flashlight on the surface between them with the beam cast upward to provide light. Andrew takes the seat beside his partner, but no one bothers to fill the fourth place at the table. They stand in a tight circle waiting for their leader to lead.

Rick clears his throat and looks to Dexter.

"Yesterday you said that the generators are in the basements. You said we'd have to go through cell blocks C and D to get there and you said that like it'd be a problem," Rick starts things off.

"Only a problem if you like living, which I do," the man leans forward to brace his elbows on the table. "We're in B block here; you would have come in through A. These are the safezones; even before the prison went to hell. A is for prisoner intake and release; visiting rooms, deliveries, front office shit. B starts gen pop, but the cafeteria here is the main draw. They put the short-timers on this row; the light offenders, so it's not a trouble spot for the guard. C is up behind A and that's laundry, infirmary, Ad Seg, solitary and the showers are all up in there. D is behind us; that's the gym then nothing but cells, including our little death row. Generators are in with the boiler room under the gym. Our best access is from D block."

"You said we'd have to go through C and D to get there," Daryl points out. "Make more sense to go straight to D if it's right behind us."

"It would," Dexter nods in a way that indicates he's holding back a particularly juicy tidbit.

"But?" Rick prods.

"That'd mean going through the gym."

"I woulda taken you for the type to like a good workout," Daryl scoffs. "I got no problem with going through the gym."

"You really don't want to go near the gym," Eugene offers quietly. "Trust me."

"It started as a sickness, right?" Andrew says, scratching nervously at his neck and knee jarring the table as it bounces. "That's what everyone thought, see? So what'd they do? Infirmary filled up quick; too quick. Run out of beds there, you gotta put more up somewhere, so the gym's the nearest open space. They set up triage there."

He falls quiet and rocks a little in his seat, fingers digging sharply into his flesh as he clearly remembers something that Rick isn't sure he wants to hear about.

"How long was it before they realized it wasn't a normal sickness and sealed the gym?" Hershel asks.

"Too long," Axel answers, scratching his chest tiredly as he moves to join them. "Any of y'all got a cigarette?" He looks around hopefully only to drop his head when no smokes are forthcoming. "You're gonna want a vice after this," he sighs. "My guess is a third of the prison pop is locked in that gym. That's make it a hundred, easily, of whatever those things are. Locked in there since it all began. I saw them that day; was up in the tiers as the guards tried to keep them back. It was a massacre on all sides. I've never seen so much gore in my life. They got the doors shut; left more than a few of the living inside in the process. It didn't matter, though. Too many were already bit. It was like a wildfire; never seen anything spread and consume like that."

"You said the infirmary's in C block," Rick says after everyone absorbs the man's words with a moment of silence. "What makes it any safer than the gym if they had infected there first?"

"Infirmary's always been well guarded to protect the medical staff since it's mostly women that they get working up in there. Only 20-30 beds there, all with restraints that they were quick to put on the 'patients' and the guards didn't hesitate to start using live rounds to subdue the threat there. It was manageable there," Dexter answers.

"You left something out," Rick looks at the inmate at the mention of 'guards' and 'live rounds.' "Where's the control room? The guard's locker room?" He braces his elbows on the table and leans forward with every ounce of menace that he has, "where is the armory?"

The man's only response is to kick back in his seat, cross his arms over his chest and press his lips firmly shut. Andrew's gaze jumps from Dexter to Rick to Dexter to Axel then Eugene and Thomas before going back to Dexter to repeat the circuit. Rick and Daryl turn almost as one to level their stares on Eugene, sensing him to be the weakest link. He flinches under their gaze and looks to the others of his group for assistance. Dexter gives a single, firm shake of his head and Eugene seems to wilt under pressure.

"You said the power was priority," he stiffens his spine even as his voice quivers on the words. "Let's worry about getting to the generators first, the rest can wait."

"That'd be a lot easier to do with weapons, dumbass," Daryl's eyes narrow at the guy.

"The presents us with a catch-22, I'm afraid," Thomas speaks up, removing his glasses to polish them with a careless air as everyone turns to look at him. "The armory has electronic security protections that have no manual override or work around. You can't get in to get the guns without restoring power to the locks controlling those doors."

Rick's jaw clenches and his teeth grind at both the news and the manner in which the man delivers it.

"Fine," he grits out. "We'll make do with what we have."

"You say there's a third locked in the gym," Hershel begins reasonably. "There's a good many bodies, but I doubt the count would climb to more than fifty corpses in the field and cells here. That means we're looking at over a hundred inmates unaccounted for; likely turned," he turns to look at Rick. "Think we can handle those odds?"

They don't flinch visibly at the reasoning, but Rick knows his group well enough to know that Hershel's words are like a bomb set off among them.

"How likely is it that there are more survivors? Where else could people hole up?" he turns to ask the inmates.

"Guard towers outside are a good place; they're all set up to be self-contained in the event of a riot; have their own bathrooms and breakroom with snacks. Vistor's waiting room has snacks that could sustain people for a while, but it's open; unlikely anyone would find shelter there from these things. Infirmary's the only other place I can think of," Axel answers. "It's got lockdown capabilities and stuff to live off for a while, but seeing as it all kind of started there, I doubt anyone's left alive."

"If we're going the long way around to get to this access door; we'll sweep those two for survivors. Anything outside can wait until we're set up in here," Rick pushes to his feet, looking to the windows as the sky outside is lightening. "If there's anyone else left alive in here, I want to know that just as much as I want to account for the undead."

He moves to Daryl's side and gives the man his attention without further regard for the inmates.

"What'd you find that we can arm with?"

"Not a whole hell of a lot," Daryl grumbles. "Best bet'd be to strip those guards outside; got at least two in the hallway."

"I know; got my baton off one," Rick rubs his jaw. "That riot gear could be useful. Probably be too much to hope they've still got guns on 'em."

"You're on your own if you're thinking of putting on anything those corpses are wearing," Daryl snorts, "but I'll go toss 'em over. See if I can find any guns or ammo."

"Glenn," Rick whistles the other man over. "Daryl's going out to see what kind of weapons we can get off the guards. You see anything that might be useful in the cells?"

"Not really," he shrugs. "We were mostly focused on bedding."

"Take some of the others and go have another look," he squeezes Glenn's shoulder. "We'll try and wait for some more natural light to come in before we start off."

"You expecting 'natural light' in the tombs?" Dexter snorts. "Brother, you better have good batteries in those lights because there ain't no windows where we've gotta go."


	17. Chapter 17

They gather together like a sports team around the coach in a locker room before a championship game. Rick has no rousing words to offer, though, before they head out on a task that they're almost guaranteed to lose someone on.

Beth and Lori had been the only ones staying behind until Thomas advised that he 'has asthma' and would be of more use helping the women clean up more cells. Andrea volunteers to stay back after that.

Daryl managed to get some items of use of a few corpses; flashlights, another billy club, bullets, a gun and a few shivs that could be of use close up. The flashbangs and CS Triple-Chasers were nice, but likely to be ineffective on Walkers. Glenn's main find had been a wooden chair that he broke to pieces to scavenge the legs for use like clubs.

T-Dog wasn't overly squeamish and took some of the body armor from a fallen guard to put upon himself for added protection. Glenn took the other flac jacket to be put to use. Those weren't too bad aside from the smell of death that permeated the Kevlar. The helmets and gloves that the guards had worn were things that no one was willing to touch with a ten foot pole after Daryl pulled one off and liquid human goo fell out in revolting clumps. They found a few rolls of duct tape and used that to wrap around their ankles and forearms; Daryl's idea as a defense measure.

"Never underestimate the power of and uses for duct tape," he declares as he tucks a roll of the tape in his quiver for possible use later.

After seeing everyone through a breakfast of canned goods they couldn't wait to heat up then getting everyone some form of weapon they gathered into this huddle and Rick looks at the now at a bit of a loss.

He's paired everyone off on a buddy system even though his instruction is for everyone to stay as together as possible. He's put Hershel with Axel; Maggie with Glenn; Daryl's to keep his eye on Carl-who refused to be left behind; Andrew's with Theodore and Carol with Michonne; leaving Rick to keep his eye on Dexter and Eugene. He takes a mental picture of them all in the moment and hopes he'll have another to add to it once they've all reconvened here with the power restored.

"The goal is be quick and quiet," he reminds for the umpteenth time. "Get to the basement; get the generators on. Consider it a race; first team there gets dibs on a hot shower."

There's some laughter and cheering at that, which he allows a moment to pass before he continues more seriously.

"Do not get lost. If you get separated from the group or your partner; look for and follow the arrows," he holds up his canister of white spray paint that will be used to tag the walls as they go, "Whatever you do; keeping alive is priority number one. You get bit, that's it; don't cry for help, we'll put you down as painlessly as possible. Remember," he looks at the inmates, "don't waste your time on anything but the head. Nothing else will stop these things. Kill the brain."

"Go sweep the visitor's center," he orders with a brisk nod, "I'll meet you there."

They move out with Glenn and Maggie taking the lead with Axel close behind to offer directions. Daryl hangs back for Lori to give her stern warnings and clinging last hugs to Carl.

"You don't have to do this," she sniffles back a tear and pushes back the sheriff's hat to brush Carl's forehead.

"Mom, I'm ready," he argues, squirming away from her touch and re-setting the hat properly on his head. "I'll be fine. Daryl and dad and everyone will be watching out for me and I can help them get this done. We all need to be helping here."

He pulls away angrily and nearly leaves it at that, but the tear running down Lori's cheek stops him.

"I'll be fine, mom," he promises, rushing to hug her tight.

"I love you," she bows over him tightly. "Always know that I love you," she tips his head back. "No matter what."

"I love you, too," he ducks away from the intensity of her stare. "We gotta go."

This time when he tears away from her clutch, he doesn't look back. Daryl watches the kid go, but lingers to make eye contact with Rick for reassurance before he leaves the room as well.

Rick waits until the Daryl's gone before he moves to Lori's side.

"Take it easy while we're gone," he urges gently, taking in her haggard expression and pale coloring. "Eat."

"Eat?" she chokes out a laugh. "Between morning sickness and nerves, food has zero appeal. If I manage to force something down, it's back up within minutes."

"You've got to try, Lori," he puts his hand on her shoulder. "The baby needs nourishment."

"The baby needs security," she shrugs aside his hand.

"I am working on that as we speak," he grits out. "Once we've got power-"

"It's always something else. Once we get to the CDC, once we get to Fort Benning, once we find Sophia, once Carl gets better, once the baby's born. I'm talking about. Right. Now," she hisses with a sideways glance to Thomas seated at his usual table.

"What?" Rick snaps. "You want me to just kill him now? Lock him in a cell while we're gone?"

"It's not like he's not used to being in one," she whips away only to lurch to a stop and sway with her hand flying to her mouth.

She runs for a nearby wastebasket and heaves, but there's nothing in her to come out as her stomach lurches. Andrea moves in to offer aid and support, but Lori brushes it aside as she slumps over the canister.

"Are there any other ways that you'd like to tell me how you wish Shane were here instead of me?"

"I don't wish that," she gives him a look that's truly horrified by the suggestion. "I just…I wish…," she closes her eyes and stumbles to sit down. "I don't wish _that._"

Andrea gives him a sympathetic glance then moves to collect Beth and urge her out into the corridor to start on the cells. Thomas pushes to his feet and follows them out at a leisurely pace, unconcerned with giving privacy for the marital spat.

"I love you, Rick," Lori folds her hands together and bows over them as if in prayer. "I've loved you for the longest I've ever loved anything in this world outside my parents and sister. That didn't stop when I thought you dead and it didn't change when you came back. It changed months ago and Shane had nothing to do with it. I realize, though, that I haven't been _in love_ with you for a while now, but I have tried. I _am_ trying. For you, for Carl, for _us, __**I am trying**_," her eyes glisten with tears as she looks up at him; "but I am so scared. I'm not a pioneer or an Amazon woman; I miss my creature comforts. I don't want to be the first woman to give birth in this new world. I don't know if I can do it. I have nightmares. So many nightmares. We're all infected; it's inside of us. What if it's in the baby? What if it _is_ the baby? I see the bump now and when I touch it, I'm not thinking of sonograms and nursery decorations and baby names like I did with Carl. I think of it growing and shifting and eating my insides out or bursting through my stomach like a science fiction horror scene. It was conceived after the outbreak began, what chance does it have of being a healthy, normal baby?"

"You still want to abort it?" he asks as his knees give under the weight of her tearful words.

"I can't. It just isn't in me to do it. When I think of trying to get it out of me, I have dreams that it _is_ a beautiful, happy, healthy baby. That somehow it's untouched by all of this and maybe born immune to it; maybe it'll hold the key to a cure," she puts her hand to her stomach and presses tenderly. "No matter how it ended with Shane, this baby was created in a moment of good in all of this bad and I can't help but hope that it'll bring more good into this world."

"Shane. Shane," Rick spits and pushes to his feet. "The man attacked you; threatened Dale, killed Otis, killed Randall and tried to kill me and all I hear from you now is _Saint Shane_."

"Because he did all of that for me," she snaps back. "For _us._ There was never a sacrifice that he would not have made to protect Carl or me or our baby and I didn't _see_ that truth until too late. I didn't appreciate it until too late. He was a good man who made some bad choices, but his reasons were right. He promised you long ago that if anything happened to you, he'd take care of us and he took that promise to heart. I swear, that's all it started as, but it became more as we fought together to survive. _We_ were a family. We were doing so well without you. When you found us at the quarry it was a miracle and dream come true and nightmare altogether. I thought things would get better, that it'd somehow magically go back to the way it was before you got shot, but it hasn't. Some days, I think you did die and you brought hell back with you when you came to find us. Everything has fallen apart since you got here. It's like you broke the hourglass and you keep trying to stop the spill of sand, but it keeps falling through your fingers and the mess just spreads more and more with every motion you take to clean it up. You're intentions are good, Rick, and I love you for trying, but I'm sorry. I just think it's all too late. I wish I had done things differently," she concludes on a whisper.

He wants to ask what 'things' but he wants just as much not to know anymore of this. He sits back down with a jarring thud and drops his head forward to clasp his hands behind his neck and squeeze at the tension there that he does not need right now.

"So what now?" he asks hoarsely after several more minutes than he should spare for silence.

"Now?" she smiles brokenly. "You go storm the castle to turn the power back on and I play Donna Reed, getting this place spiffy for your return."

"It doesn't have to be like that," he starts to argue.

"There's no other way that I know," she states. "I have to fix this," she wipes the tears from her eyes and pushes to her feet. "I _will_ fix this. You and Carl and I _will be_ a family again and if you say this place is safe, then we'll make it our home. We'll put it all behind us, clean up the mess and make this _a home._"

He feels her hand soft and tentative on his shoulder and looks up to find her standing over him. When he doesn't shake her off, she moves closer until his head is cradled against her chest and her arms wrapped familiarly around his back.

"We'll be ok," she whispers against his head. "Just ignore me right now," she orders softly, like that erases everything she's just said. "Hormones are always crazy in the first trimester. Remember with Carl?"

Rick pulls back with an unbidden bark of laughter as he suddenly recalls one vivid memory.

"The peanut butter," he tips his head back to look up at her. "I remember that one night all you wanted was crunchy peanut butter and there was only creamy in the house. It was after midnight, I'd just worked a double and I found some Planters in the cupboard and told you to just crush them up and stir them in. You threw that can at my head and swore that the only nuts you'd be crushing would be mine if I did not get you Jif brand crunchy peanut butter."

"And a Nestle's Crunch bar to dip into it," she laughs with him, moving a hand to touch his smiling lips.

He stops laughing at her touch and the fingers fall away as his expression goes solemn once more.

"I see you with Andrea," she pulls back and tucks her hands in her back pockets. "Do you think it's too late? Am I wasting my breath here?"

"No," he answers automatically and without thought. "I…," he looks toward the corridor outside and thinks of Andrea there. "I don't know," he scrubs the back of his neck. "Maybe you're right. Maybe somewhere we've fallen out of love with one another and us trying to hold on to the way it had been is just damaging the love we still have between us. You're my wife. Mother of my child. My family," he smiles, thinking of the moment of laughter that they had just had. "You're my oldest friend. Nothing changes that. Everything inside me still cares for you and I will do anything to keep you safe; you and Carl and the baby. It's all gone so bad, I just keep trying to get us to a safe zone so that I can...I can _breathe_ and think and figure out how to fix _us._"

"So you want that too? To fix this?" she looks hopeful.

"There's no other way that _I_ know," he repeats her own words back to her.

"What does that mean?"

He thinks about it and pushes to his feet to leave.

"I don't know an answer to that anymore."

He strides to the exit without looking back, thinking only of the time spent here while the others are fulfilling their necessary tasks.

"Be careful, Rick," she calls after him, almost as an afterthought.

He doesn't look back.

He moves through the corridor, past Thomas standing just outside the cafeteria entrance then Beth a few cells down. His step does falter as he catches a glimpse of Andrea in his peripheral vision as she drags a corpse out of a cell to a growing pile against the wall. She stops to let him pass, but there's deliberateness to the way she doesn't look up from her task that tells him she'd seen or heard something of his discussion with Lori.

He sets one foot back in front of the other at a brisker pace to focus his energy on the work needing done.

* * *

Notes: I'm giving some advance warning that the next chapter may have serious delays in coming because my muses are taking me someplace I never meant to go, but this idea came to me and it. will. Not. leave. I've actually got the next chapter pretty much done, but I have to transcribe it because it all has been coming to me while sitting in traffic on the way to work, so I've taken to recording notes on my cell phone to type/work on later. I've upped the rating on this series from K+ to T for content yet to come, but I don't think it'll broach M territory. I am also changing the genres from Romance/Angst to Drama/Angst as romance is really pretty backburner in this series and it's about to get an additional setback.

If you know the comics, you can probably sense where this is heading, but I hope I manage to surprise you all with the way I do it. And, yes, you're likely to hate me because the reason the next chapter will be delayed is that I currently hate my muses because they're starting to find Kirkman's work "inspiring" in many many bad ways.


	18. Chapter 18

WARNING: Death ahead. Just. Be warned. And know that more store is planned. As is more death. As much as I love fix-it fics, this is The Walking Dead 'verse. So. Yeah.

* * *

They had established rules for their mission into the bowels of the prison.

Close all doors behind you and leave marks to follow back; those were the primary rules to live by other than the standard aim for the head and don't get bit that applied to everything that they did.

Rick moves through the visitors center as is proud to see his rules obeyed. White arrows spray painted on the walls point the way back to their cell block. Gates and doors are closed to keep anything from getting through to that block. The door to the visitors center has a white circle with a line slashed through it; indicating that the area beyond has been cleared with no Walker threat found or left.

The group has been and gone from here, but Rick still slips in to the rooms to check the bodies on the ground to assure himself none of the group are among the dead. He sees the vending machine that Axel had mentioned and wonders wistfully how stale that honey bun would be. Making a mental note to come back and empty the machine later, he leaves the rooms with the knowledge that they are indeed clear.

He quickens his pace as he follows the path of the arrows in search of the others. He keeps a hand on his hip to hold the keys still and prevent them from jangling to draw unwanted attention. As the corridors grow dark, he pulls out his flashlight and flicks it on for guidance. He passes doors with red Xs sprayed on them; group code for Walkers inside, that that way is not safe. He passes more of those Xs than he likes before he finally hears the sounds of fighting ahead.

He shuts the flashlight off, tucks it back in his holster and switches it out for the baton that is his weapon of choice for this outing. The group is in an open space of some kind with light coming in from barred windows high up the walls.

With the light he can see them all engaged in battle with undead things. Michonne, Maggie and Carol all have head flying with their edged weapons; Glenn, Hershel and T-Dog are beating and stabbing their way through the throng. He sees the inmates, but spares only a passing glance to them as he looks for Carl in the mass. An arrow shoots from a higher elevation to pierce the skull of a Walker and Rick's eyes dart up to the source of the shot. He finds Daryl and Carl relatively safe on a staircase across the room, clearly having been the first one's in and able to make it past before the zombies got to riled by the presence of living things. As Daryl reloads, Carl fends off the Walkers crawling up the stairs to try getting at them.

Rick sets his sights on them and focuses on cutting through the chaos to reach his son. They seem to have stumbled into some kind of gathering place for the Walkers. The group was outnumbered by the undead and more kept shambling in from somewhere to the left. He swats aside the zombie that sets it's sights on him and looks toward the source of the influx.

"Michonne," he calls out to get the woman's attention as she finishes beheading two Walkers with one swipe of her katana. "Get that gate closed!"

She follows his gaze to the dark corridor the zombies are coming from then looks back at him with a decisive nod. He looks to Daryl with the thought forming to holler for the man to provide cover, but Daryl meets his gaze and gives a firm shake of his head before Rick can ever open his mouth. The other man slings the strap of his crossbow over his chest and puts that weapon aside in exchange for his hunting knife. His quiver is already empty of arrows. That does not sit well in Rick's gut, knowing that Daryl's gotten up to about six decent bolts that he always keeps handy for the bow.

A scream suddenly drowns out all the other noise and Ricks spins around to do a head-check of the group. The identity of the bitten member becomes evident when Dexter shouts Andrew's name. Rick throws his weight behind his baton to drive it through the gaping mouth of a Walker then out through the back of it's head to sever the brainstem. As the threat drops from his path, he moves closer to Theodore as he hold Dexter back from moving in on the trio of Walkers down bearing Andrew's body to the floor.

The man is no longer screaming.

Rick and Glenn take advantage of the distraction to pick off the zombies as they feed. He looks for Eugene to make sure that he's still ok to be of use to them and he finds the inmate tucked safely behind Axel as the two fend off a single Walker in a far corner.

"Get him up there," he orders Axel with a jerk of his chin toward the landing where Carl and Daryl are.

Eugene needs little prompting and bolts toward the stairs, lashing out with his chair leg/club to knock aside the zombie in his path. Rick watches long enough to assure himself that the prisoner is ok then focuses on clearing out the threat.

Carol, Maggie and Hershel have fallen together, backs to backs to fend off any biters and Glenn moves to join them as Dexter remains standing a bit shell-shocked over Andrew's remains. Neither Rick or T-Dog spare the man much sympathy as they move to help Michonne push back the incoming Walkers to get the gate shut to stop any more from getting in with them. It takes a little more doing, but they're finally able to shut off the entrance that the zombies are coming in through. With that done, taking out the last of the undead is an easy process for the group.

Daryl comes down the steps to retrieve his bolts from fallen corpses once the last threat is taken out. Dexter remains unmoving and, unfortunately, unharmed. Andrew's remains begin to twitch with reanimation and Daryl is quick to drive an arrow through the body's head to put a quick stop to any movement before it can become dangerous.

Dexter moves at that, lunging for Daryl's throat before he can pull the bolt back out. It takes T-Dog and Rick both to pry the man off.

"Had to be done," Daryl growls as he shoves the convict aside. "Sorry 'bout your boy, but he's gone. Least he went quick."

Theodore has the prisoner in a headlock and Dexter's eyes promise retribution for a moment before he slumps forward in defeat.

"Promised I'd look after him," he says just loudly enough for Rick to hear him.

Rick spares him a conciliatory pat on the shoulder then turns his focus to Carl.

"You ok?"

"Fine," the boy nods. "Daryl got me up here first thing."

"Where are we?" he turns his attention to Axel.

"Intake area," the man looks around. "Infirmary's that way," he waves a hand in the direction that the Walkers had been coming from. "That's an entrance to the gym," he points to a set of double doors that have been chained shut and spray painted not to enter.

In a moment of déjà vu for Rick, something on the other side of those doors pushes against the barrier to rattle the chains and give a hint of what lies beyond.

"Where we going next?"

"Laundry's through here," he moves down the stairs to a gate in the corner. "We go in, go right and work our way around the gym to the access door."

"So we're close?"

"After this?" he scoffs. "It's just a hop, skip and jump away."

"We're not going to make it," Eugene flops down to sit on the landing, staring at the carnage below. "We're all going to end up like…" he trails off, staring at what's left of Andrew.

"Just hold it together and we'll be fine," Rick says sharply. "We've seen worse and gotten through."

"What's worse than this?" Dexter asks as he pulls his own attention back from having gone again to Andrew.

Before any of the group can think of a response to that, Rick hears something that causes his gut to sink with the knowledge that he's somehow about to learn an answer to that question. Running footsteps and the call of Rick's name echo eerily in through the prison.

Hershel and Maggie are both moving the instant the recognize Beth's cry and Rick is quick to follow with the group filing back into the corridor behind him. Beth rounds a corner and flies headlong into her father's chest. Her first instinct is to scream and fight the arms that grab at her until she hears the man's soothing voice and collapses in Hershel's arms.

"I found you," she sobs for a moment before gripping his arms and pushing upright to look around wildly for Rick. "Rick," she moves to him with an urgency that set his teeth on edge. "You've gotta come back. Something…" she pales and sways briefly on her feet. "Daddy, I need you, too," she latches on to the man's shoulder. "You've gotta come back with me."

"What happened?" Rick and Hershel ask as one.

She gives him a look and he sees hell in her eyes. Then they see the blood on her hands now smeared on Hershel's shirt.

"It's not mine," she rushes to assure her father as she realizes where everyone is looking. "It's…not mine," she looks at Rick and then quickly away.

He has a pretty good idea then of whose it is and his feet are moving back toward the block without thought. He senses the others behind him and has the presence of mind to stop for a moment to turn and locate Daryl in the group.

"Go on," he orders the man. "Keep to the original plan."

"No, man, we can-"

"We need the power back," he cuts off Daryl's argument. "Hershel and I will go back, see what's happened and take care of it."

"I'm coming with you," Carl pushes through to stand nearer his father. "It's mom, isn't it? Is something wrong with the baby?"

Beth crumbles at the question as the boy directs it at her and Rick's stomach drops out at what that reaction might mean.

"Get me those generators," he orders Daryl, gruff and sharp before he turns back and begins racing along the arrow marked path to the cafeteria.

The gates and doors along the way have been flung open and left ajar, but he gives no thought to lecturing Beth about leaving them exposed to Walkers. He doesn't bother to shut any barriers behind him nor does he hear the sound any doors clanging shut to mix with the sound of the feet rushing to keep up with him. He doesn't look back to see who all it is, just does the count and figures Maggie added herself in to help with her sobbing sister or maybe Carol to help if Lori's miscarrying the baby. They've picked up one extra set of feet though, in addition to himself, Carl, Beth and Hershel.

Once they reach the gate to their cell block, Rick stops to gather himself and scan the cells for a hint of what might be wrong. He doesn't see any zombies and there's no hint in the corridor of Andrea, Lori or Thomas.

"Beth," he says her name with more hiss than he had intended and she shrinks further into Maggie's arms, confirming his first theory. "What is it? Did something get in? Is she sick? What are we going in to?"

"Not Walkers," she draws a shuddering breath and pulls away from her sister. "It was that man. He ran," she looks toward the visitors center, "that way, I think. I didn't see…there was just…," she looks at her hands. "I'm sorry," she looks at him with haunted eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Hershel moves to assure the girl. "It'll be ok."

"No," she whispers, but the word seems to echo behind him as Rick begins to move toward the open door to the cafeteria. "It's not alright. It won't be ok."

The words follow him, slowing his feet with dread until it feels like a slow motion scene in a horror film; like he's fighting quicksand and forcing his way through for one last chance at survival. It feels like forever before he's standing outside the doorway and yet it feels too soon for him to be facing whatever lies inside. As he hovers on the threshold with foreboding leading to hesitation, Carl weaves his way past to actually step into the dining hall. The boy grinds to an immediate halt and Rick forces himself to take that single last step forward to see inside the room.

He sees red.

It isn't a figurative haze of rage coloring his vision, but actual red; thick, crimson and pooling around Lori's prone body on the cement floor.

Blood.

Her blood.

Seeping from her unmoving body from what appears to be a slash across her usually lily white throat.

"Momma?" Carl takes a staggering step forward and Rick draws him back sharply as Hershel puts them both gently aside to move into the room.

Maggie moves to follow her father only to draw back with a gasp, covering her mouth in horror as she sees Lori's body.

"It's too late," a ghostly whisper says from the shadows as Hershel kneels beside Lori's unmoving body and reaches for a wrist as if to feel for a pulse. "She's gone. Bled out almost before I even sent Beth after you."

Upon hearing her name, Beth pushes through and searches out the source then moves to drop down beside Andrea as the other woman sits slumped against a nearby wall. Rick can only seem to stare as his eyes slowly focus on the blonde and he realizes that she, too, is red; soaked in it almost literally from head to toe. The blood staining her helps her blend with the dark shadows and he never would have seen her had she not spoken to draw attention to herself.

Hershel moves quickly to join his daughter at Andrea's side upon seeing that there's nothing to be done for Lori and realizing that there's too much blood on Andrea to come from just one source. Rick sees the slash across her face as Hershel tips her head to the side, but the world starts to fade away at that point.

The quicksand pulls him in, sucks him down to his knees on the floor at Lori's side. The congealing blood around her quickly saturates his pants as he takes a knee and he braces hand in the same pool as he leans down to put his head against her chest. The heart that had beat there less than an hour before as she hugged him to her is silent. Her arms make to move to lift and embrace him. He runs a hand over her; from her blood matted hair, to her unmoving chest to the barely there swelling of the child in her belly. His fingers curl into a fist in the plaid material of her over shirt and a wild, broken sound tears through the space and echoes off the walls.

He realizes that the noise is coming from him only when he feels Carl's little arms wrap around him as his son falls to his knees beside his parents. He wants to tell his son not to look, he wants to demand explanations for what the hell had led to this, but Rick is only able to draw his son close and fall forward; weeping over Lori's corpse without any idea how it ended like this.


	19. Chapter 19

"_You've got to keep the pressure on."_

"_I need needle. Thread. Beth, see what we've got left in our first aid kits."_

"_Keep your hand away from it, Andrea. You've got her blood all over you, last thing we need to it getting in the cut and risk the infection getting in."_

"_We've all got it already, Hershel. I don't see-"_

"_She's dead now. That makes it different. They bite or scratch you and you turn from that – saliva, blood, God knows what. I'm not taking the chance. Maggie, get me water and plenty of it, we need to clean this up."_

"_What are we gonna do about-"_

"_We focus on what we can fix first."_

"_I found this in Carol's sewing kit. We're out of pretty much everything in the first aid kit."_

"_It'll do. Thank you, sweety."_

"_Now hold still."_

"_This is going to hurt."_

"_Guess I won't need to worry about matching earrings anymore."_

"_We've got to get to the others. Warn them about Thomas. __**Find**__ Thomas."_

"_We focus on what we can fix, Maggie, now hold this tight for me."_

"_Oh God, is she-"_

"_Just fainted, more than likely. It'll make it easier to finish this up."_

"_Beth, see if you can get Carl away. He shouldn't-"_

"_She's going to come back, isn't she? I should-"_

"_No! God, no, Carl."_

"_But she's my mom. Someone has to and-"_

"_Rick will do what needs done, when it needs done, Carl."_

"_I don't think he will…..Dad? Dad, can you hear me?"_

A hand touches Rick's shoulder. He feels it. He hears words accompanying the contact, but can't really identify the source or understand the meaning. Voices have been swirling around him for a while now, a whirl of words from familiar sources but none of it makes sense.

Nothing makes sense.

He can't have messed up this badly.

Lori's not dead.

This just can't be right.

He understands now, even better than before, how Andrea must have felt during her vigil over Amy's body, waiting for her sister's corpse to reanimate after the bites the girl had suffered. Rick, though, isn't hovering in wait of Lori's return. He just can't believe that she's gone.

He could have imagined her dying in childbirth; that had been a realistic concern given their circumstances. Walkers were a constant threat to all of them; she could have gotten bitten and died at any time.

But having her throat cut? Being killed?

He knew that the human element was still a danger; that's why he'd shot Dave and Tony, but this was a little extreme for Lori to prove herself right about the risk present with the inmates. _**This**_ just does not make sense, therefore this cannot be.

_This cannot be._

The body beneath him jerks, sudden and violently to argue his inner logic.

"Rick," Hershel's voice makes itself heard through the fog in Rick's brain, the firm tone and firmer grip of a large hand on his shoulder to pull him back.

He falls back on his ass little more than arm's reach from Lori just as her left arm lifts from the floor then flops back into the pool of blood with a sickening slap of sound. Her head shifts restlessly, flapping a bit to emphasize that the slash to her jugular had nearly severed her head from her body. _Nearly_.

He watches as if from a distance as her clouded over and unseeing eyes seem to lock on him. As if sensing prey, her corpse begins to shift, flailing hand scrabbling for a grip on the slick floor so that it could get closer to him. The sight is more pitiful and tragic than terrifying and Rick finds himself choking out a sob against Hershel's shoulder as a gurgling sound bubbles out of the body's gaping throat.

In a series of movements too quick for anyone to really stop; Carl crosses Rick's line of sight, pulls a pistol from the waist band of his pants, slowly cocks the hammer then takes position beside Lori's body and fires a single bullet into her forehead.

The gurgling stops.

The hand flops back to the ground to lay there unmoving in the blood surrounding the, now certainly dead, body. Carl sniffles back any tears that he might be wanting to shed, tucks the gun back into his pants and turns to face his father.

"Are we going to go get that man now?"

Rick can only stare into his son's eyes and wonder how this has happened.

"Maggie, Beth, go with him," Hershel suddenly orders as Carl turns away from Rick and leaves the cafeteria.

Rick is aware of the trio leaving and knows that he should stop them; question then, but he can't seem to form thought to speak words.

"Rick," Hershel moves to kneel in front of him, filling his vision as he takes a firm grip on Rick's shoulders and gives a shake. "Rick, you're in shock. You've got every reason _to be_ right now, but Carl needs you. I need you to focus," he shakes again and Rick's head flops around bonelessly. "Look at me, Rick."

A hand slaps across his face and something in him rages at the abuse, but mostly he accepts it as his due. He's failed Lori in more ways than he ever would have imagined. He got shot, lapsed into a coma, left her and Carl to Shane's care as the world went to hell, woke up, tracked her down, broken up the new family life that she'd created with Shane, inserted himself back as her happy husband only to want another woman in place of his familiar wife and now he'd failed to listen to Lori's very real concerns about the prisoners and she's dead. She's laying on a cold, cement, prison cafeteria floor having had her throat slashed by Thomas and a bullet put in her brain by their son.

"Carl," he chokes out as that last part becomes blindingly clear. "Oh, God, Carl."

He shoves Hershel away and scrambles to his feet; slipping and falling twice due to the blood on his hands and the floor.

"Rick, this isn't a time for rash actions," Hershel pushes to his feet as Rick frantically wipes his hands dry on his shirt so that he can get a good grip on his baton. "You need-"

"I need to find my son," he cuts the man off and swipes a hand over his wet face; feeling blood, sweat and tears smear with the action.

"Then find him and bring him back. Wait for the power. Wait for the others before we go hunting this vermin. He has the advantage of knowing this place, Rick. Wait for Axel to help guide us to wherever this Thomas might hide."

Rick accepts the advice with a nod; a wild, jerking motion of his head that changes the angle of his sight. He catches a glimpse of a booted foot and follows it to Andrea's unconscious form on the floor against the wall.

"Jesus," he moves to her side and drops down to feel for a pulse.

"She just passed out. No telling what she's been through. She didn't say much about what happened; nothing coherent at least," Hershel moves to put a hand on Rick's shoulder to steady him. "The bastard cut her. I stitched it as best I could, but she'll have scars. I doubt the physical ones will really bother her, though. Something horrible happened here," he states the obvious as Rick pushes to stand with a grimly resolute expression. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't find this man and kill him for what he's done," Hershel stops him from turning and leaving. "He'll answer for this, but your priority needs to be Carl's welfare right now."

"Watch her," he grits out as he moves around the obstacle of the other man.

"You don't even have to ask. I'll stay right here."

He leaves the room without taking another look at Lori's body and rushes toward the visitor center where Beth had indicated Thomas to have been heading. Before he reaches the end of the corridor, though, something lunges at him from the last cell on the block. He immediately throws up an arm to keep his throat from getting torn out, but it isn't a Walker atop him and his forearm gets slashed by a well-used shiv in the moment it takes him to realize he's being attacked by the inmate.

"Pitiful little man," the convict spits down at him as Rick grapples with his shock and the sudden attack. "Cuckolded by your whore wife, bastard baby fathered by another man. Sickening," the knife draws back to stab into his side and Rick lunges toward it to the Thomas off balance. "I did you a favor," the prisoner growls as he rolls away before Rick can do more than kick at him. "Now return it by giving me those keys."

He lashes out with his weapon and grabs for the keys hooked to Rick's belt loop. Rick gets another cut as he knocks the shiv aside, but he won't let the prisoner have the keys. He can only imagine what this man might do with control of the prison. He sees red at the thought and this time it is a red haze of rage.

He doesn't go for his baton or any weapon, he lunges with his hands fisting with the want to curl around this person's throat. He drives a shoulder into Thomas's chest and knocks the man back against the bars of the cell behind them. Thomas's head bangs back against the metal; obviously stunning him for a moment and Rick takes the opening to tear the knife from the inmate's hand. He then lets his hands open to curl around Thomas's throat, squeezing tighter and tighter as the man struggles and chokes against the hold.

Rick sees the gaping wound of Lori's throat and squeezes tighter, until his knuckles ache from the pressure of the grip. He pulls back to drag the man forward a bit then shoves to slam his head violently against the cell bars. There's a sickening crack of bone breaking under the impact and Rick does it again and again until the crack is replaced by the squelching of a head wound opening further and further under the onslaught.

Some part of him knows that the man is dead; likely killed by the second blow to the head, but he doesn't stop. When he can't support the weight of Thomas's limp body any longer to hurl it against the cell; he lets it fall to the ground where he proceeds to kick it with every ounce of his rage and grief.

Sounds echo in the corridor; the thuds of blows landing mix with his grunts and pants of exertion along with disjointed sobs.

"Rick," a gentle voice reaches out to him through the sounds of violence. "Rick, that's enough."

The hand that grips his arm isn't Hershel's, but it is strong and he looks at the bloodstained skin for a moment before he finally sees the pulverized remains at his feet. He tears away from Andrea's hold to stumble into the prison cell and fall to his knees at the toilet, throwing up until his stomach feels as empty as his mind.

"Rick, Hershel said that Carl took off looking for Thomas," Andrea moves quietly behind him but doesn't attempt to touch him again. "I'm going to go find them. Tell him that it's done, ok? Before I go, I'm going to have Hershel come here and sit with you. I want you to stay right here, ok?"

He remains on his knees, forehead pressing against the metal rim of the prison commode as she slips from the cell. The clang of her closing the cell door as she leaves rings loudly in the silence. It's an empty gesture; the cell doesn't automatically lock when closed and even if it did, Rick could find the key to get out among those on his hip. The idea, though, that she feels the need to shut him in is more than enough to get through to him. He falls back to sit on the floor and leans tiredly against the cell wall as he hears their footsteps approaching.

"Rick," Andrea calls from outside the cell and he turns his head to look at her from the shadows cast by the bunk beds.

The left side of her face is bisected by Hershel's stitches of a cut that goes from the corner of her lip to her ear. With her hair pulled back in it's usual ponytail, he can see that the lower half of her ear is gone. Hershel had obviously cleaned her up a good bit, but fresh blood wells up around the stitching and oozes from the wound, streaking her face in bright red to emphasize how deathly pale she is.

"Rick, can Hershel come in?"

"Best stay out," he replies, his voice little more than a rasp as he looks away from her to stare at the stark wall opposite of him. "I think I might need a minute alone."

"I can give you that," Hershel says calmly.

He hears Andrea exchange soft words with the other man then her booted feet begin to stride away.

"Rick, I'm going to move this body away, is that ok?" Hershel asks after a moment.

Rick says nothing and after a few minutes he hears Hershel begin to grunt and strain at dragging Thomas's weight away from the cell.

"She thinks I'm a monster," he says into the darkness. "She saw what I was doing. What I'd _done_ and she shut me in here."

"No one thinks that you're a monster, Rick," Hershel pauses in his chore and move to lean against the cell door in the peripheral of Rick's gaze. "You got the monster in this. She's just worried about you. She's worried about us all after this."

"She should be. She should be afraid," Rick turns his haunted gaze to the older man. "I'm afraid of me."


	20. Chapter 20

When the power comes on it brings almost blinding light into Rick's cell followed by the deafening sound of the prison's alarm. The sirens whoop and wail enough to draw Rick to his feet. He nearly slams into Hershel in the corridor as the other man is running for the gate at the end of the block.

"Find your girls," Rick orders as he begins to move with the single thought of silencing that noise.

He sees them; Andrea, Carl, Beth and Maggie, all running toward the cell block as he's running out.

"Get inside and shut it down; this racket's stirring up a hornet's nest," he yells over the blaring alarm. "We've got to brace for every Walker within hearing range to come down on us."

The alarm cuts off halfway through his last sentence, leaving him shouting like a madman, which he supposes is fitting. Beth and Maggie flinch as his words echo off the walls around him, but Andrea stands firm.

"Sounds like they've got things in hand down there," she meets his gaze steadily. "We need to check the fences. Make sure the perimeter will hold if that draws a herd to us."

Rick finds an anchor in her gaze and holds to it, nodding at her words.

"Ok," he looks to the others. "Everyone outside."

They encounter a few Walkers on their way to the yard and dispatch them quickly, but Rick's attention is focused on the fields surrounding the prison. The dozen or so zombies that had been milling the grounds the day before has easily doubled in size and more are staggering out of the woodlands toward the fading echo of the klaxon.

Beth and Maggie look to their father while Carl looks to Rick for guidance. Rick looks to Andrea with her blood streaked and battered face. She's staring at the coming threat with a tension in her body that doesn't show as she does a futile check of her clip then slides the empty magazine back into place on her gun with steady hands. She tucks the weapon away and pulls out her knife; little more than a pocketknife, but it'd already saved her life countless times from the way she spoke of the thing.

"Remember your promise?" she asks as she finally looks at him.

He doesn't have to think hard to know what she means. The last time he'd been out here had been the day before when she'd bolted and they'd stood beside this same gate when he'd promised to kill them all if the prison was overrun.

He holds her gaze and gives a single nod in answer.

"You'd better be prepared to keep it," she orders softly before moving to tap Beth and Maggie on the arms to encourage the girls to join her as she began to pull the inner gate open. "We need to run the perimeter. If the fence is sagging or falling in, we've got to fortify it somehow. Kill as many Walkers as you can to keep them from pulling it down. We've got company coming and I'm not about to let them stay."

With that she takes off to the right and Carl follows while Beth and Maggie head left. They jog along the space between the fences; killing the zombies lined up outside the main fence and randomly shaking the links on both sides to test how well the panels hold up.

"You ok for this?" Hershel asks as Rick watches the blonde move with her focus solely on the task at hand.

"She can do it, I can do it," he offers a twisted smile to the old man then takes off at a jog to catch up with his son as Carl puts his knife through the eye of a Walker as it claws at the outer fence.

Hershel goes the other way to help his daughters on their side. By the time they all meet up at the back of the prison, they're exhausted; every one of them panting for breath and soaking with sweat. The number of zombies trailing out of the woods is steady; three here, five there. They've killed dozens to litter the ground outside the fence and still more come, but Rick has trust that the fences will hold.

"Got a problem to show you," Hershel says after catching his breath.

They all follow him around the prison until the problem is visible to them all. A hole in the wall; a gaping entrance to the back of the prison. Rick has no idea how it got there, but Walkers are stumbling out of it toward them.

"Gymnasium, you think?" he asks, lifting a hand to hang on to the fencing as he tries not to count the number of zombies in this section of the yard.

"Hard to tell," Hershel answers. "Might be an idea to bring Axel out here to have a look. He tells us where this is and we can make sure we seal it off."

Rick sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and adding this to the list of the million things that he has to see done. Which makes him think of the things that he _should _have seen done; the things that he has failed to do. He ends up staring blindly at his palm, seeing the blood traces in the lines of his hand and remembering Lori laying in that crimson pool on a cement floor.

"We should get back inside," Andrea gets the others moving toward that objective. "The others are bound to be getting back soon and we should be there to…prepare them."

Rick keeps staring at his palm as they all begin to move away until finally his fingers are being folded gently closed and his hand clasped in both of Andrea's.

"What happened with Amy doesn't compare to this, but I know some of the darkness that you're lost in right now. It's easy to get lost in it; get consumed by it. Don't let it win," she squeezes his hand tightly. "We need you, Rick."

Their eyes meet as she squeezes his hand again before releasing it. It goes unvoiced, but not unknown that what she really means is that _she_ needs him. It's a selfish kind of thought that can't be spoken at a time like this, but he knows the truth to be there and it means more to him than it should; adding to his guilt and shame.

He follows slowly as she begins her trek to the others to get back inside the front gate. She needs a bath and change of clothes desperately and he imagines that he's much the same. There would be no cleansing these garments of the blood staining them. They should likely burn every item; adding it to the pyres when they finally begin cleaning up the corpses and burning the remains to ash.

He spares a glance at the tattered remains of his uniform and starts to laugh at the idea of exchanging it for prison coveralls. The others look back at him with concern at his unexplained amusement and he just waves them on while pausing to drive his baton through the face of a Walker clinging to the outer fence. The body crumbles to the ground and he takes a moment to admire the pin striped suit that it wore; probably an impressive suit worn by a lawyer, maybe someone defending one of these inmates. Something neatly pressed and nicely tailored before the owner was bitten and torn into to mar the garments with blood and gore. Rick never had been a fan of fancy suits.

Carl and Andrea are waiting to pull the gate closed behind him when Rick finally strolls through. The Greenes have all gone back inside and Rick dreads joining them with every fiber of his being.

"Carl," Andrea takes a moment to squat down in front of the boy as Rick hesitates to go back inside, "I'm very sorry for your loss. I'm sorry that I didn't get there in time to save her, but Lori was very brave and she fought so hard. Her last words were for you," she grips his slender shoulders and smiles tenderly at him. "She loved you very much and she's so proud of the man that you're going to be."

"It's my fault," Carl bows forward to press his face in the crook of Andrea's neck.

Whatever else his son says is lost to him as it's muffled by her shoulder, but Rick knows that Carl is still speaking, because Andrea begins to shush and rock the boy as the moment draws out. Her eyes are overflowing with tears as she scoops Carl up against her chest and meets Rick's gaze over the boy's head.

He remembers Hershel saying that he needs to be there for his boy and Andrea saying that they need him and he sways on his feet at the thought of failing these two further.

The next thing he knows he's staring up into a cloudless blue sky only to see the sky blink above him to make him realize that he's looking into Andrea's eyes.

"Carl's gone to get Hershel," she says, a pent up breath stuttering out of her in obvious relief at his return to consciousness. Her hands are curling tightly around his forearm, applying pressure to wounds that he remembers receiving from Thomas's knife, but even now he does not feel the sting of the injury. "You're bleeding pretty bad."

"So are you," he lifts a hand to swipe his thumb along her jaw, collecting the blood about to drip from her face.

She rears back to scrub a hand over her own face then stares at the fresh bloodstains on her fingertips. She looks at her jacket and shirt then Rick's clothes before she slumps beside him with the realization there there's nothing clean enough between them to use as a bandage.

"Aren't we a pair?" she scoffs, wiping at her face as tears begin to chase the blood down her cheek.

"Yeah," he reaches for her hand and threads his fingers through it. "Yeah, we are."

She looks t him, startled by the words or contact or both, then blinks and pulls away as Hershel and Carl rush outside.

Hershel takes one look at Rick sprawled on the ground and scrubs a weary hand through his white hair.

"Help me get him inside," he urges Andrea even as Rick begins to force himself to his feet.

He manages to take two steps under his own steam, despite their protests, before his knees turn to water and his vision grays a bit around the edges. Andrea props herself under his right arm and Hershel takes the left as they drag his sorry ass into the prison. They take him to a cell, past the one with Thomas's blood on the bars and before the one that Lori had slept in the night before. He shuts off that and all lines of thought as he flops down on the bottom bunk and throws his left arm over his eyes to stop the dizzying spin of his vision.

The sleeve of his shirt tears away and he hears Hershel calling for supplies; water, needle, thread and scissors, the same things he'd used for Andrea. He hears her voice nearby, talking to Carl as Hershel begins the task of peeling away the duct tape wrapping Rick's forearm. Rick is relatively sure that his wrist is stripped of any hairs and possibly the topmost layers of skin in the process and he makes a mental note to "thank" Daryl for that bright idea.

"This would have been worse without it," Hershel says, indicating that maybe Rick hadn't just made a _mental_ note just then. "If not for the tape, the blade could have cut through your veins, maybe even the artery. You might have bled out if not for the pressure applied by the wrapping."

Rick doesn't say anything to that as the other man begins cleaning away the blood on his skin.

"We're going to need to get into that infirmary sooner rather than later, at this rate," he muses as he pokes and prods at the cuts to gauge their depth. "Can you make a fist?"

Rick thinks of how his fists had clenched with rage toward Thomas and he snorts in answer to the question.

"Any difficulty in gripping things?" Hershel persists in playing doctor and Rick pauses at that question.

He lowers the arm covering his face and shifts to sit up a bit on the bunk as he fumbles for the Colt on his hip. He unsheathes the weapon and grips it tightly in his right hand, giving the trigger a few practice squeezes and feeling a twinge of discomfort in the slashed muscles of his forearm.

"Pulls a bit, but it'll heal," he assures himself more than Hershel as he puts the gun back in it's holster and lays back down.

"I don't have any anesthesia, so this is going to hurt," the veterinarian warns as he takes the needle and thread from Beth.

"Do it," Rick orders, gritting his teeth and curling his free hand tightly around the bed frame.

Given everything that he's just endured, Rick feels no shame in the fact that he last only two passes of the needle through his skin before he passes out.


	21. Chapter 21

Rick wakes to an increasingly familiar and oddly comforting sound; metal scraping rhythmically over stone.

He drops the arm that he has flung over his face and blinks awake only to flinch at the unexpected brightness coming from above him. His eyes are gritty and dry; the light irritating to them. He pushes upward with a groan, raising a weary hand to rub at the grit as his mind starts to kick in.

There's a weighted pause in the scrape of metal over stone as he shifts, but it resumes at a slower pace without anything being said to address his return to reality. He braces his hands on the edge of the bed and grips the thin mattress to prepare himself for another glimpse of the world. The motion pulls at the stitches in his right arm and the evidence of what had happened causes his stomach to lurch.

"How long was I out?"

His voice is a hoarse rasp that is so hard for even him to hear that he has to wonder if he actually spoke the words.

"Been a few hours," Daryl drawls, simple and low without pausing in his sharpening of whatever weapon he's fooling with.

Rick had known it to be Daryl outside his cell and he really isn't sure how he feels at having it confirmed. His eyes squint open and he slowly turns his head to look at the man.

He finds Daryl across the corridor outside his cell; his sitting on the floor, legs folded in front of him as he leans back against the wall sharpening his hunting knife in a habitual manner while keeping a steady eye on Rick. On the floor beside him, within an instant's grab, is the man's crossbow with a bolt loaded and ready to fire. The cell door is open, but Rick doesn't take that as any sign of faith on the group's part given the guard that he was clearly left with.

He wonders if Daryl'd actually kill him if he showed any signs of violence in that moment. He flexes his grip on the mattress, feels the ache of abuse in his knuckles and remembers the feel of Thomas's throat crushing in his grip. He feels no regret for that. His eyes meet Daryl's and he sees no blame there, no threat. He sees caution and concern and that eases something inside him.

"You got the lights on," he muses, feeling at a loss for things to say but needing something other than silence.

Daryl just grunts at the words and Rick's mouth twists into a wry smile as he remembers who it is he's trying to make idle chitchat with.

"Everyone make it back?"

"Went smooth enough. The alarm was a bitch of a surprise; got lots of bumps and bruises fighting in the boiler room, but no bites or scratches," Daryl reports.

The knife slows to a stop over the whetstone and Daryl shifts to tuck the stone back into one of the many pockets on his pants before sheathing the razor-sharp knife back in its hip holster. He fidgets for a few minutes, scratching his neck, tugging his ear and picking at a scab on his arm as he shifts legs restlessly. Rick recognizes the signs of the man having something of a sensitive nature to say and struggling with the best way to say it given his lack of experience in actually caring about sensitive shit.

"We…uh…the girls, they…they cleaned her up as best they could. Can't do much to get the blood up, but Carol's still trying. They're digging now. Hershel figured that hilly patch of ground down to the right would be best for burials. Thinks we should keep the flats for gardening if we're staying here. Glenn and T should be about ready. If you are."

"Carl?"

There's a hesitation in the answer coming for that question and Rick's breath catches with concern for his son.

"Andrea's got her eye on him," Daryl bites at the inside of his cheek. "Kid ain't left Lori's side since we got back. Won't talk," he tugs nervously at his earlobe again. "It true he shot her?"

The question brings the nightmarish memory back to mind and he sees the unreal image of his son standing over Lori and hears the deafening sound of a single gunshot being fired.

"Shit," he groans, rocking forward to hang his head between his knees as the world starts to spin.

"That boy's gonna need you something fierce, brother," Daryl's voice sounds closer, but still at a distance. "Now ain't the time for you to lose it."

Rick chokes out a sound; part sob mixed with a bark of twisted laughter overtaken by a pained gasp as his body crumbles under the weight of this day. He doesn't know what to do or how to do it. He _has_ to be there for Carl and he set himself up as lone leader to these people so he now has to find a way to lead _them_ through this when he's so far under it all that all he sees in crimson blood drying black and covering his hopes for survival in carnage and loss.

A howl of grief escapes him, echoing eerily off the walls and he would have fallen to the floor were it not for the shoulder that suddenly presses into his chest as an arm wraps around his shoulders and a rough hand guides his head to rest against Daryl's chest.

"I ain't no good at this shit," the man growls, warning and complaint both in the biting tone. "You got five minutes to let it out, hoss, then we suck this up and shove it down. Got stuff to get done."

Rick takes advantage of the offer, pressing into the comfort given and shuddering with sobs that produce surprisingly few tears. His eyes feel dry and wasted, he can't cry, but his body is convulsing with the grief. His loss and failure are bone deep; go soul deep. He feels like he's mourning for nothing and everything all at once; this goes beyond Lori. This is the grieving that he hasn't allowed himself since he woke up in that hospital bed to find this horrid new world.

He feels himself breaking apart and five minutes can't put him back together.

"Dammit, you make _me_ cry and I'll kick your ass."

Somehow, those words prod a laugh from him and Rick latches on to the humor; clings to the anchoring support of Daryl's shoulder. It reminds him suddenly and painfully of Shane, the man that he'd been; the _friend_ that he had been, up to that moment on Hershel's porch when Shane had wiped Carl's blood from Rick's forehead. He'll never understand how that had gone so wrong, so fast. How they went from practically brothers to plotting to kill one another in just the span of weeks.

He'll never understand this world, but, then, how much of it had he really understood before. Understanding it is too much, making sense of it impossible; he just has to manage it. He's got to suck it up and shove it down and focus on one breath to the next until they grow calm and steady. Then he focuses on easing his death grip around Daryl's ribs, not even knowing when he'd flung his arms around the man to cling like such a vine. They both know more than five minutes have passed by the time Rick manages to straighten away and sit upright on his own, but neither of them say anything as Daryl falls back to lean against the cell wall and does back to watching with that cautious concern.

"Y'all went through the laundry," his voice is still hoarse, but surprisingly steady as it croaks out. "Any chance there's clothes there? I," he looks down at himself for a moment before clenching his eyes shut at the blood stained uniform.

Daryl shifts and Rick opens his eyes to watch the man grab something from the top bunk.

"Eugene's still tinkering with the pipes to get actual water throughout the prison, but the showers are working," Daryl presents Rick with a bundle of clothes. "I can take you there, get you cleaned up a bit."

Rick stares at the garments on offer and feels a knot in his throat. They didn't select prison garb for him; they'd found a guard's uniform. Despite it all, _they_ still saw him as the authority figure in the group and that realization is as much blessing as it is curse.

"Yeah," he licks at his dry lips and reverently takes the clothing. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

Daryl gives a jerky nod of his head then reaches out to squeeze Rick's shoulder before giving it a tug to urge him to stand. Once he's on his feet, Daryl releases his shoulder and reaches behind him to grab something else from the bunk. Seeing the bottle of water the man grabs, Rick takes it and gladly gulps down half of the clean, clear contents between one breath and the next. His friend laughs at his greed when he pauses to suck in air before throwing back the remainder of the liquid.

"We actually do have more of that for a change, you can take it easy, there," Daryl snorts his amusement as he watches Rick cast the empty bottle aside and look for more.

Rick nods absently at the words, locates a second bottle on the bunk and grabs it for himself. His parched throat and lips were eased by the first bottle, though, so he tucks the second in his back pocket and turns to exit the cell. As he steps across the threshold, he hears a low hum of voices from the cafeteria and stutters to a stop with his gaze going to the open doorway. He can't see anyone. In his mind's eye, all he can see is Lori in the pool of her own blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up before you deal with that," Daryl's hand claps him on his shoulder as he urges reason. "Carl don't need to see you like this."

"Worst part is, I think he's getting used to seeing me like _this_," Rick hangs his head at the knowledge, hearing all of Lori's recent lectures rolling through his head with some brutal truths that he hadn't wanted to hear then or now.

Daryl doesn't say anything to that, just gives him a nudge in the other direction. They walk past the cell at the end of the row and Rick pauses at the stains on the floor.

"We took that garbage out," is all Daryl says on the topic of the missing body.

They move through the halls toward the showers in silence. The room is empty, but the tiled floors are still wet from recent use. Rick is momentarily surprised by the lack of corpses in the room, but when he stops to think about it he doesn't really imagine anyone would be wanting to risk the vulnerability of a group bathroom and nudity when people are dying then coming back to life all around.

No one wants to get caught with their pants down.

Trusting Daryl to watch his back while he's thus exposed, Rick begins the process of stripping down. His gun belt is heavy with all the new additions and his body goes slack with the relief of the weights being eased away. He puts the belt on the counter between sinks and starts pulling out the things tucked away in his pockets, belt loops and waistband; flashlight, baton, keys, water bottle, pocketknife, hunting knife and yet another switchblade tucked away. He finds three loose bullets in the depths of one pocket as he empties it out and he snorts out a laugh as he carefully places each piece of ammunition on the counter.

He sees shaving cream and disposable razors at the last sink down the row and he considers his scruffy reflection in the mirrors. He scrubs a hand over his jaw and imagines it free of stubble again. Just the thought makes him feel a fraction more civilized than he's felt in a while.

He moves to a nearby bench in the room and sits to unknot the laces on his boots to pull the heavy things off. He rears back from the odor of his own feet when they hit air and he realizes he's gone a good four days without taking his shoes off to let his skin breathe.

"You happen to come across any decent shoes?" he asks without much hope for a positive response as he sets his boots aside and slowly peels off his damp socks.

"Gotcha fresh socks, but most the shoes so far are still attached to bodies and I somehow think they'd be a bit worse on the stench than what we've got on."

Rick huffs out a laugh at that and balls up his socks to drop in a pile to be thrown with the rest of his current outfit. His fingers feel thick and unwieldy on the buttons of his shirt, but he still makes a concentrated effort to undo each button to remove the garment rather than just ripping it away as it's bound for the trash anyway. Daryl moves to take position leaning against the entryway so that he has a clear view of things in and outside of the showers as Rick pulls the shirttails from his pants and gets down to the last few buttons.

"We've all lost a lot. More than we had to spare, but you've done good holding us all together," the man begins to talk, low and quiet; almost to himself as he focuses on the sunlight coming in through a barred window high on the wall to his left. "Strongest of men have broken for less 'n you're goin' through. We've lost family; brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and children. Most days seems like all we do is lose, but I need you to remember one thing in all of this," Rick pauses in the act of stripping off his undershirt when Daryl's head twists in his direction. "You're family, too. For each one we lose, those that's left mean more. I lost Merle; got a damned good brother in you. You may be as thickheaded as him sometimes, but you tend to take to reason better, so I'm trusting you to keep doing what you've been doing. I can't even start to imagine how you do it, but you can't stop now."

"I have no idea what I'm doing. I never did," Rick tears off his tee shirt and wrings it in his hands. "All this has ever been for me is finding Carl and Lori and looks what's come of that?"

"Yeah. _Look," _Daryl pushes away from the wall to pace over to him. "You _found them_. _**Alive**_. You got more time with your family; not just a minute or a moment like we're barely lucky to get, but _days. __**Weeks.**_ They've been a lot of bad days, but I'd still take that over not knowing what happened to my brother after that rooftop. Carol would give anything for one argument with Sophia over the memory of that little girl staggering out of the barn. The list never ends if you start making it. No one's loss is greater or less than anyone else's. What matters is how we go on," Daryl stops to almost playfully kick at Rick's bare foot. "You've been teaching us that since you got here."

"Have I?" Rick scoffs and tips his head back. "And killing Thomas with my bare hands? Shane? Those guys in town from Randall's group? What kind of lesson has that been? 'We don't kill the living,' those are my own words!"

"Always said they were funny coming from a man with a gun aimed at my own head," Daryl plops down on the bench beside him. "You kill when you got to. We protect our own. Gotta hold to what's left."

"Who am I to make those decisions?"

"Long as you keep asking that question, I think you're just the right person for it. I see a threat, I'll shoot first and never ask questions later. You've still got some trust and faith in you. You're willing to give these strangers a chance and-"

"And look where that got me?!" Rick shoves to his feet to pace. "Lori wanted them dead. She wasn't comfortable with convicts and I knew something was off about Thomas, but I couldn't put my finger on anything specific with that one so I opted to wait and see and I saw my wife's dead body in a pool of blood with her throat slashed open. _Carl_ saw his mother like that. My boy had to put down his own mother because I was to shocked to respond when her corpse started moving and all because I wanted to trust in these people being more than criminals."

"Eugene got the power back. Water, too. He'll have us heat for the coming cold. Guy's got a way with rigging up gadgets that we can really use. Axel's a good guy. Ol' junkyard dog, all bite and plenty useful for grunt work. We're lucky to have them. Focus on that."

"And Dexter?"

"We've all been watching him. He steps out of line and none of us will hesitate to take him out after today. Not a one of us would lose sleep over it if you took him out or asked me to," Daryl's gaze is as steady as his voice.

"Hell," Rick laces his hands together behind his neck and pulls his head forward in an aggravated movement. He stretches like that for a moment, then drops his arms with a sigh. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Burial. He insisted to cleaning up his bitch's remains. Got Axel outside digging a grave beside Lori's. Andrew seemed a good enough kid, none of us have a problem with that."

Rick nods at that.

"Thomas?"

"No one's digging a hole for that shit. He'll burn with the Walkers."

"Good," Rick nods again. "Good."

He breathes in and moves toward the showers, shucking his pants and boxers to leave behind with the conversation as he goes to the nearest showerhead. He turns the nozzles and the water blasts out like ice, but he doesn't care as the spray immediately picks up grit from his skin and carries it away toward the floor and drain.

There's soap on a rope hanging from a hook on the wall and an assortment of shampoos and shower gels are set on the floor nearby. He goes for the soap and begins the lengthy process of scrubbing away blood and dirt and sweat and tears along with a layer or two of skin. He uses the whole bar with only a passing thought to the waste of what is likely a precious commodity in their circumstances.

The water barely gets to more than lukewarm as he washes his hair and gives his body one last scrub down with lather from the shower gel, but he doesn't care. It could have stayed cold and he wouldn't have cared. Temperature didn't matter nearly as much as function. When he finally turns the taps back off, he feels cleansed inside and out.

He finds towels waiting on the low wall the divides the showers from the sinks and he wraps one around his waist and begins drying with another as he sets his sights on the shaving supplies at the sink. Daryl's gone back to standing guard in the entryway, keeping his eyes diverted if Rick were to want to run around without the towel. The very notion makes Rick chuckle as he fills his palm with shaving cream and lathers it over his growing beard.

"You can look, Ethel, I'm not preparing to streak," he scoffs with a sideways look at the man.

Daryl snorts at the reference and cuts him a quick glance.

"Feel better?"

"Almost human," Rick answers as he begins the process of shaving with a damned safety razor.

"You'd have better luck with my knife," Daryl snorts with a derisive look at the razor.

"Yeah," Rick glances toward the weapon in question, "if I wanted to cut off my whole face."

"Just sayin'."

"I appreciate the offer."

The man flips him off and goes back to staring up at the window as Rick works away the growth of hairs on his face and neck.

"This is gonna be good for us," he muses after a few minutes. "Got off to a horrific start, but we can make this place work. Hell," he laughs, "never thought I'd be happy 'bout spending the rest of my life in a prison, but if we can hold this…"

Rick hums and nods his agreement as he rinses away the residue on his face and checks his reflection for stray hairs.

"We'll make it a good place for Carl. A safe place. Lori'd like that."

Rick pauses with his face buried in a towel and resists the urge to scream at those words.

"Thought we were gonna shove all that down," he reminds, trying to keep the bite out of his tone as he repeats the man's earlier words back to him. "Got stuff to get done."

"We do and we will. Thing like that, though, ain't like any of us are ever going to forget it. We can stifle our reactions, but there's no unseeing what we saw. I had my issues with your missus, but she tried. Good mom, decent enough woman. Didn't deserve what she got. I'm s-"

"Don't finish that. Ever," Rick cuts him off and moves to start sorting through his new clothes for underwear to slip on. "_You've_ got nothing to be sorry for in all of this."

"I coulda done it. I had the same reservations about Dexter and Thomas. I could've slit both their throats in their sleep last night and we'd have been done with it. Lori'd still be alive. That baby'd still have a chance."

"You are not going to beat yourself up over that," Rick orders, jaw dropping for a moment at the mere thought of the man taking that blame onto himself. "You are not my henchman. Carol's right in that. The things you do for this group are more than kill. You're not a murderer."

"Neither are you," Daryl points out as Rick begins to dress, "so I guess we can both stop beating ourselves up over not killing Thomas before he showed _himself_ to be a murderer."

Rick pauses in the act of tucking in his new black, short-sleeved button-up shirt and gives the man a slightly exasperated look.

"You been holding that in long?"

"Had some time to work on it while you were dawdling in the shower," Daryl slants him a crooked grin.

"Any other pearls you want to add?"

"Nah. Here endeth the lesson."

Rick shakes his head and goes back to tucking in and buttoning up his shirt. He fastens his black slacks and moves to shove his feet back in to boots before crossing to the counter. He slicks his damp hair back and thinks it growing a little long for the clean cut professional look that his new uniform dictates, but he doesn't give a thought to cutting it. The guard's uniform feels as different from his Deputy garb as night and day, but the look is similar and oddly comforting. He looks at the GADOC insignia on the shirt's left chest and sleeves and casts a glance to the floor for one last look at the emblems for King County Sheriff's Department.

He wonders for a moment what his life would have been like if he had studied medicine like his mom had wanted instead of following his father into law enforcement, then he reaches for his gun and carefully loads those three bullets into the chamber.

* * *

Notes: I had more in mind for this installment, but I just love writing these two so much that the scene kept growing to take the whole chapter. Already working to get my other ideas in for another update today.

The "reference" in here is to lyrics from "The Streak" by Ray Stevens. Don't ask me why, but lines from his songs always tend to stick in my head and I can't count the number of times I've said "don't look, Ethel" or "it's me again, Margaret" with thoughts of his music and the full knowledge that the person I'm speaking to is not getting the reference. My parents are the ones that got me hooked on that music and I most often say first thing when I call them, "it's me again, Margaret" and they don't just don't get it, so I thought I'd better explain myself for the usage here. And I really don't know why I'm listening to his songs today as I write Walking Dead fics, but here we have it.


	22. Chapter 22

Rick knows that Carl should be his first priority. His brain says that his first act upon leaving the showers should be to go to the cafeteria, pull Carl away from Lori's side and to hold his son to let the boy know that it's ok for him to grieve.

His feet, though, carry him outside and through the side gate to the area of yard where the graves are. He finds the job done, but the diggers seem to be lingering over the site.

Theodore and Glenn are talking to Axel beside what is already marked as Lori's grave while Dexter is standing in the hole that's been dug for Andrew. He's quiet, clearly listening to the others talk but not adding anything as he leans against the dirt and looks at the world above him; gaze lingering often on the sheet wrapped remains of his …of Andrew. When Rick's shadow falls across him, he's slow to turn his head around to look up at him.

The others fall silent at Rick's presence among them and they look to Daryl for guidance as he moves to join them. He just shrugs, though, and keeps his own eyes on Rick, as clueless as them all as to what's about to take place. Rick doesn't have a plan in his head. He isn't even conscious of a thought in his brain as he squats down next to the grave and looks across to Andrew's body.

"What happened to your wife, man," Dexter begins awkwardly when seconds tick over to minutes without a word being said; "that's … that's rough, man. Thing like that. Brutal. I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

"Seems like we both suffered one today, so let's can the sorries," Rick drawls, still staring at the shrouded corpse. "Did you know?"

"Know what?" the big man's rambling jams to a stop and he looks startled by the sudden question.

"Thomas. Your _**tax evader**_. Did. You. **Know**?"

"Hell, he wasn't '_**my'**_ anything," the man sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, drawing Rick's icy gaze. "You never know what a person's really in for. Never trusted him. Knew he wasn't in max security for no 'tax evasion.' That's white collar, white person crap they send you to Club Fed for. He was always quiet, before and after all this. Andy and I tended to keep away from him unless we needed a fourth for poker. Eugene's good with alotta things, but he can't bluff to save his life and it actually gets boring to beat him all the time."

"Man outta know when he's got a killer in his midst," Rick muses, pushing to his feet and moving to prop an elbow on the end of a shovel embedded in the ground, waiting to be used again to fill in the holes it had just been used to dig.

"Hey, he didn't try to kill me, I saw no reason to kill him," Dexter threw him arms up in a careless gesture. "Figured if those things got in, it'd help to have one more body to offer them that wasn't mine."

Rick huffs out a laugh at that and nods his understanding.

"Self-preservation," he hums and straightens away from the shovel. "I can understand that."

He grabs the handle and yanks the blade of the shovel from the ground in one quick, violent motion. Before anyone can react, Rick whirls around with the spade and puts all his weight behind delivering a single, fatal blow to the man's head. The metal blade of the shovel plows to a stop embedding part way in the side of Dexter's skull and the dirt behind him. Nothing more than a gasp of breath manages to escape him before his body goes slack in death.

Rick moves calmly toward the edge of the grave and kicks out a foot to brace on the body's shoulder for the leverage needed to pull the shovel back out. Dexter's corpse falls to its knees then gravity keels it over to sprawl bonelessly in the bottom of the grave that the man had helped to dig. Rick thinks that oddly…poetic.

He shifts his grip on the handle of the shovel and turns to face the others. Glenn and Axel look slightly horrified, Daryl and T-Dog are just watchful.

"Did _you_ know?" Rick narrows his eyes and points the dripping blade at Axel.

"Rape," the man shouts, jumping back away from the shovel. "I thought he was a fucking pedophile, maybe; rapist, definitely. Some sick, perverted sadist, to be certain. I didn't know he…I never would have imagined what we saw when we got back."

"But rape?" Rick stabs the shovel into the ground and stalks after the man with his fists clenching. "You saw us come in with women and children and in all your helpful chatter you didn't think that piece of information might be of use?!"

"He was one of _us_," Axel defends even as he puts up no fight when Rick grabs the front of his coveralls. "You guys come in here with guns and swords and knives and fucking crossbows. We don't know you. We can't trust you any more than you trust us. I didn't like the guy, but I couldn't just offer him up as some kind of sacrifice without knowing what to expect in return. We were watching him."

"Were you now?" Rick pushes his face into the other man's and sneers. "Were you watching him when he cornered my wife and slit her throat?! You left him behind with three women and no warning to what he might have been capable of!"

"I didn't know he liked women!" Axel, flings out an arm and staggers back from Rick's drawn back fist. "All his talk about them was always hateful. Malicious. Derisive. We all thought he was gay. Before all this happened, he'd hang a sheet in his cell. Had a little guy for a cellmate; scrawny little thing we all felt sorry for and we'd hear things at night from that cell…," Axel blanches at the apparent memory of those sounds. "After we got locked in, he cornered Eugene. Once. I put a stop to that. Guys in your group, I figured you all could handle him if he tried that shit and someone's always watching the boy, so I thought him staying behind was for the best. I never thought-"

"You never thought that he might just be making do with guys because there's no access to women inside?"

"I never thought…I couldn't know! I would have…I should have," the inmate drops to his knees, practically in tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Rick," Daryl says from beside him. "Enough."

Rick feels a wildness still inside him, a clawing for violence to vent even on this man that he's had no issues with. He actually almost likes Axel, finds it amusing the way that the man talks on about things, but he just suddenly needed an outlet and the guy's prison garb made him a perfect target. His chest heaves as he pushes out a breath through flaring nostrils and he looks at his friends; all three bracing to hold him back if he moves to strike at the other man.

Rick begins a slow count to ten in his head, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing until the thundering in his ears settles to a dulled roar. His count reaches fifty before he feels his fists relax and he continues to a hundred before opening his eyes again. He moves to grab the shovel, carefully removing it from the ground then tossing it at Axel's side.

"Bury your people," he orders before turning away from the man's shaking form.

Daryl falls into step behind him with Glenn close behind while Theodore is heard offering to help shift Andrew's body into the hole to lay with Dexter's. Rick's oddly glad that one of their group is staying behind to help bridge the gap that he's just put between Axel and them.

"What was that?" Glenn asks once they're beyond hearing range of the inmate. "What the hell was that?!"

Rick doesn't answer.

He can't.

He doesn't know.

He just keeps walking back into the prison and down the corridor straight into the cafeteria. He staggers to a stop along with all conversation as he crosses the threshold and sees Lori's wrapped body placed caringly on a mattress rather than left lying on the floor.

Carl's kneeling at the foot of that mattress, staring morosely at the blood-stained sheet covering his mother. Andrea looks up from watching the boy and meets Rick's gaze with a worry that makes him swallow. The killing rage leaves him and the crushing despair returns as he moves to drop to his knees beside Carl and draws his son into his arms.

"We were waiting for you," the boy says against his chest. "Where have you been?" He tips his head back to stare at Rick. "We're always waiting for you."

Rick blinks at the oddly intense stare and Carl breaks away after a few minutes of just looking into his father's eyes; for what, Rick hated to hazard any guesses. He somehow knows, though, that when Carl pulls away, it isn't with the answers that he'd hoped to find.

"We can bury her now," his son announces to the group before moving to squeeze Lori's shrouded shoulder. "It'll be better for you now."

Rick's throat seizes at those whispered words, heard only by he and Andrea as they hover over the boy. He looks to her for any guidance he can get and watches her throat convulse with a gulp as she closes her eyes against the wetness pooling there. A single tear overflows and trickles down her left cheek, drawing his attention to the angry red gash across her otherwise flawless skin.

He wants to tenderly cup that battered cheek and thumb away that tear while drawing her and his son close, but they both move away as if sensing that want in him. Carl's moves to leave the cafeteria and Andrea follows, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him around for a hug that he resists for all of two seconds before sobbing into her embrace the way a kid should after losing their parent.

Feeling like the outsider, he swallows his renewed guilt and moves to kneel at Lori's side. His instinct is to reach out and stroke her head, but he thinks of the damage likely done by the bullet and his hand hovers over her at a loss for a proper place to land. In the end, he follows Carl's example and grips her shoulder, bowing over her one last time. A million words spin through his brain, but none escape him in the moment he allows himself before pushing back to his feet.

"Daryl?"

The man moves to Lori's other side without any additional prompting and they bend to pick at the edges of the flat sheet spread over the mattress under Lori's wrapped corpse. Glenn moves to Daryl's side and twists the corner of the sheet around his hand to help carry and Carol does the same on Rick's side. Rick looks at them both with silent thanks and they carefully lift the body up to carry between them.

Andrea moves to boost Carl up on her hip, but he pulls away upon realizing that the funeral is beginning and he wipes at the wetness on his face before moving to grab the sheet and place himself between Daryl and Glenn. Rick's gaze locks with Andrea's and he angles himself slightly forward. She hesitates for a moment before accepting the silent invitation and moving to take hold of the blanket with him.

The six of them, a proper number of pallbearers, begin an awkward shuffle through the door and cellblock with Michonne, Eugene and the Greene family trailing behind. The procession is surreal without anyone speaking.

Rick thinks how there should be a priest or pastor leading them with a solemn voice reading from Psalms or intoning the Lord's Prayer and leading them through an all too fitting Hail Mary. Hershel, though, the likeliest choice for that role, seems inclined to continue the silence.

Axel and T-Dog stop shoveling dirt as soon as they see the group approaching. Rick's relieved to see that the bodies in the grave are covered to avoid any questions at just that moment.

The men quietly put aside the tools and move to stand solemnly beside Lori's empty plot, leaving room for Daryl, Carl and Glenn to maneuver around the open grave in preparation to lower the body. Rick stops at the head of the grave, takes a deep breath then looks to Carl who meets his gaze with a single nod. Rick then looks to Daryl and receives the same nod; then Andrea, Glenn and Carol all give their quiet assent to being ready. Without a word spoken, he drops slowly to his knees and the others follow suit with Theodore moving quickly to hold the body steady as it lowers into the ground.

Carl pulls away first, being too short to lower the sheet very far without falling in the grave with his mother. Andrea lets go a moment later, to pull the boy back to stand with the others. The remaining four hold on until it's only a short drop of a few inches before Lori's body is laid to rest in the ground. They all hover there for a moment, leaning into the grave with arms still outstretched toward the body, then Carol pulls herself back and gives Rick's arm a squeeze before she rises. Glenn straightens and moves quickly to embrace Maggie while Daryl and Rick withdraw from the hole simultaneously.

For several moments, everyone stands without saying or doing anything. T-Dog's eyes bounce from person to person and Rick can see him trying to figure out what he might have missed, but even he can't think of a reason for everyone being so silent in this moment. When the minutes start to drag, Axel gives a brief clearing of his throat then he picks up his shovel and moves to start carefully covering Lori's form. Theodore and Daryl move to pick up shovels and Rick finds a fourth tool to help them resettle the dirt that had been removed from the hole.

"_Oh all the money that e'er I spent, I spent it in good company_," they all jolt to a stop in their shoveling and look over to Beth as the girl breaks the silence in sudden song. _"And all the harm that e'er I've done; alas, it was to none but me."_

Her voice is soft, hesitant and a little pitchy over the opening words to a song that Rick does not instantly recognize. He would have imagined Amazing Grace or something of that line for a scene like this, but something of the way she sings suits the moment better than any hymnal that he knows. He meets her gaze with a look that he hopes conveys his gratitude then gives an encouraging smile before scooping up another blade full of dirt.

"_And all I've done for want of wit,"_ her voice picks up steam at his reaction, _"to memory now I can't recall. So fill to me the parting glass. Good night and joy be with you all."_

There's a pause during which Maggie moves to draw her sister close before they resume together.

_"Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had are sorry for my going away; and all the sweethearts that e'er I've had would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I'll gently rise and I'll softly call; good night and joy be with you all."_

"_Good night and joy be with you all,_" Beth's voice repeats with a fading quiver as Maggie turns to bury her head against Glenn's shoulder.

They fall again to silence, but this time it seems reverent and fitting in the dying words of her song.

* * *

Lyrics used are from "The Parting Glass" as sung by Beth in 3x01 "Seed." I wanted to incorporate her singing into this moment and felt that using that song worked best to meld in more elements from the show rather than opting to have her sing something like Amazing Grace. And, in the end, given Lori's last line of "Goodbye, love" on the show, part of me kind of weeps at how fitting that end line is for her graveside service, even though none of those elements of her death are used in this fic. It gives me, at least, closure.


	23. Chapter 23

The quiet continues through dinner, with everyone eating a simple meal of canned ingredients thrown quickly together. Nothing fancy to celebrate the prison's return to power.

Nothing to celebrate.

There's no real reaction to Dexter's absence, though Eugene seems to huddle closer to Axel and Michonne and Andrea both look like they want more details as to what exactly happened.

"We'll start burning tomorrow. Corpses, beds, linens, clothing; anything flammable and fallen to ruin we'll look to torch," he announces as the food settles uneasily in all their stomachs.

"We'll want to be careful where we do that," Hershel speaks up for the first time Rick can remember in the day. "The ground here looks fertile. We can farm it; plant seed and watch the yard grow with tomatoes, cucumbers, soybeans; maybe even corn. I wouldn't want to risk that in ground too contaminated with these bodies."

"Pavement'd be best," Daryl nods his head in agreement. "Burn 'em on the concrete."

"Wouldn't want to do that where we've set up out front," Rick muses, rising to pace. "Seen a few other areas when I was running the perimeter. The basketball courts and that side lot across the way."

"Basketball courts would mean the gym," Axel volunteers with more quiet than he'd previously volunteered such information. "We can get to the courts through gates in the yard, but you'd have to be sure nothing in the gym can get out if we're going to be working right outside there."

"Speaking of," Rick focuses on the man, easing his stance and expression as much as he can. "There's a hole in the wall somewhere behind us. Walkers going in and out, milling about in a section of the yard. Would that be your gym?"

The man leans back and rubs his jaw thoughtfully.

"Where abouts?" he asks after a minute.

"I found it when I was running the fence earlier," Hershel answers. "We went out the front gate, I went left, saw the breach as I was rounding the second corner of the perimeter."

"I'd have to see it to be sure, but it sounds more likely the cells out behind us."

"Behind us?" Rick turns sharply.

"Yeah. I told you this was a cell block," Axel frowns. "Those few outside there are just the beginning," he jerks his head toward the door that they've been using. "Real pop starts through there," he aims his glance and a pointed finger toward a set of chained double doors that Rick hadn't even noticed near the beginning of the chow line.

Beth shrinks away from that direction and presses closer to her father while Carol moves apprehensively nearer to Daryl and Maggie seeks out Glenn. Andrea and Michonne exchange glances then look to Rick for his reaction.

"You have problems since you got shut in here?" he asks the inmate while stifling his inner cursing.

"It'd been just the five of us all along and nothing got in before you guys," Axel says while shaking his head. "We chained it from the inside and I'd be pretty certain someone bolted it from the outside, too. They were doing a lot of that; chaining, bolting and welding doors regardless of what's on the other side. That said," the prisoner leans forward and props his elbows on the table, "we've been sure to stay quiet so as not to draw any attention from the other side of those doors."

Rick's inner litany of profane words grows more creative as he grits his teeth and takes the seat across from Axel.

"That side lot?"

"Would be ideal," Axel nods. "It's restricted access. The prison carpool and garage are across it; supplies warehouse. I don't even know what all."

"The armory?" Rick perks up.

"It's over there," Axel admits grudgingly.

"How do we get over there?"

"You've got the keys to the kingdom," the man nods to Rick's hip. "You can go through the inner gates between the yards outside or there's a causeway that connects the two buildings. Opens off the second floor infirmary and runs across the lot. You'll probably want to load the bodies onto a truck and drive them through the gates to get them over for burning."

These words falling from Axel's lips are like magic to Rick.

_Carpool._

_Garage._

_Warehouse._

_Armory._

He looks to Daryl and finds the man grinning a delighted, boyish little grin and a look the other way find Hershel beaming back at him. Rick imagines the stretch of his own lips to border on maniacal, but he doesn't care.

He unclips the keys from his belt and tosses them onto the table to slide toward the inmate, "Which key?"

"If it doesn't say what it's for, I'm as clueless as you are," the man pushes the keys back with a slow shake of his head. "Prisoner? Remember?" he throws his arms out wide and looks down at himself to draw attention to the correctional issued coveralls that he's wearing.

Rick gets the point of the gesture even though the clothing is no longer a divider between them. Andrea's bloody clothes has been replaced with a small orange jumpsuit similar to what Axel and Eugene are both wearing. The color doesn't suit her all that well, but the manly cut of the clothes fits her soft curves in ways that Rick shouldn't be noticing at a time like this.

"Change of plans," he says as he draws the keys back and holds them up before the group. "_This_ is our priority for tomorrow. We need to get these divided and labeled; cells, gates, doors, whatever. Each key here goes into a lock and we need to identify every lock that's of use to us. We need to get into that infirmary; not only for access to that causeway," he looks at Andrea's exposed stitches, "God knows we need any medical supplies that might be left."

"I'll Amen to that," Hershel says as he takes a seat at the table, "but we're forgetting the fact that those Walkers that got Andrew," he looks to Axel, "you said they were coming from the infirmary."

"They were," the inmate answers slowly. "Part of it, at least. Prison hospital's not just one room. It's not even one floor. There's a section of all four stories of the prison dedicated to medical with it even having a tower to add a fifth level for the special needs cases."

"Special needs?"

"CI med calls, mostly. It's a suite of sparse, isolated rooms for the patients that needed to be kept away from others; not because of what might be wrong with them, but because of what they'd done to get in here."

"So Walkers?" Rick prompts.

"Are less likely to be up there. Gen pop's quarantine and isolation are on the third floor with some overflow to the fourth."

"Sounds like you know your way around there," Daryl inches closer, eyes narrowing on the convict.

"I know enough. Oscar, my last cellie, worked clean-up duty there," his eyes grow hazy with memory and his lips twist. "He was a good guy. Haven't thought about him much in all this," his face and shoulders droop. "Haven't let myself think about any of them, really. Hundreds of us in this damned place and only five locked in a room to see it out," he looks to Eugene who has faded into a corner. "We're all that's left."

Hershel, being the nearest in proximity, drops a consoling hand on the man's shoulder and squeezes.

The group goes quiet again as darkness falls over the windows to bring an end to the day.

"We only managed to clear out two more cells," Andrea rises to announce softly as sleep becomes the obvious want for all of them. "That's a total of five, giving us ten beds."

"You ain't getting me in one of those cages," Daryl snorts, "I'll stick round here. Maybe set up a bed in the perch."

"If you're offering, I think I'd like to take you up on one of those," Axel looks from her to Rick then over to Eugene. "Gene?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to returning to the bunks," he offers, rising and wiping his hands on the seat of his pants.

"You can have the one right outside here," Rick offers, sensing that no one in the group would want the last place Lori had bedded down."

"We'll keep to the same ones we had," Hershel speaks for his family, looking to Glenn for inclusion and getting a nod from the young man.

"I call top bunk," Michonne says quietly with a half smiling glance in Andrea's direction.

Andrea accepts the statement with a nod, her answering smile cut off with a wince as the muscles in her face pull at her stitches to remind her painfully of her injury. Rick watches her teeth grit through the pain and he looks to Hershel with a question in his eyes.

"Not even an aspirin," the vet answers with a sad shake of his head and apologetic glance at the blonde.

"I'm fine," she states despite the evidence to the contrary.

She stares down both men, daring them to say anything else.

"Rick," Carol speaks to break up the moment, "would you and Carl-"

"I don't want to sleep in a cell," Carl answers, moving to stand in Daryl's shadow. "We can sleep like we did last night, right, dad?"

"Sure, buddy," Rick nods and offers his son a small smile.

He tries very hard not to think about how it wouldn't really be the same for him without Andrea an arm's length away. He looks to her again and finds her looking back; the challenge gone from her stare and replaced with a softness that makes him think that her thoughts are running along a similar vein.

Carol nods in acceptance of the boy's choice and looks to the last member of their group, "Theo?"

"I call top," he answers, nodding at the unasked question.

"I can even throw an extra pillow in for you," she offers her new bunkmate with a smile.

"How have I not seen these wings before?" T-Dog jokes as he moves across the room to sling an arm around Carol's shoulders. "Where have you been keeping your halo, Angel?"

The woman blushes for a moment, then laughs and elbows him in the side.

"We found extra bedding for everyone in the laundry room," she turns to offer the group at large. "A few pillows, plenty of sheets and blankets," she goes to a corner and rolls out a laundry hamper filled to the brim with clean goodies.

They dive in and empty it in minutes, talking animatedly for the first time in hours. The gloom is not forgotten, but the sense of doom seems to have passed with the idea of clean bedding and something approaching actual beds.

Rick claims a pillow and blanket and stands against the wall watching them all talking and joking amongst themselves. Carl drifts away from the crowd to come stand with him and Daryl takes the sheet that he'd claimed and moves to make a bed for himself with the bedding left strewn around the cafeteria from the night before.

The group slowly thins out, Axel and Eugene first to turn in; leaving the group to their in jokes and camaraderie. Michonne ushers a still wincing Andrea out shortly thereafter then T-Dog moves to claim his top bunk with two pillows. The others drift through the doorway with Hershel holding out to the last. He looks across the way at Rick, appearing to have something that he wanted to discuss, but then his eyes fall to Carl and his expression softens.

"You make sure your father gets some rest, young man," the veterinarian instructs, moving to ruffle Carl's hair.

"Yes, sir," the boy nods solemnly. "I'll take care of him."

The playfulness falls away from the old man and is replaced by concern as his hand drops down to his side.

"I know you will, son," he offers an encouraging smile that falls well short of smiling and encouraging. "I know that you will."


	24. Chapter 24

Morning brings Rick awake with a numb ache in the small of his back and a throbbing ache in his forearm. He grits his teeth and shifts as gently as possible to move the weight of Carl's shoulder from his injured arm.

"Whatcha think, powdered eggs and SPAM or cereal sans milk for breakfast?"

He pauses in mid-stretch, trying to ease that kind out of his spine, and groans as his head twists to find Daryl already up and rifling through the kitchen.

"Somehow I thought we'd have a few more options here," he tries not to whine as he trudges to join the man in the pantry.

"We do," Daryl steps aside to give Rick a good look at all the ingredients still lining the shelves. "_I_ can do powdered eggs and SPAM or open boxes of cereal."

Rick snorts at that and moves to grab some instant pancake mix, syrup and an industrial sized can of corned beef hash. He sets the supplies on the counter and looks for things to cook with; mentally seeking a mixing bowl, whisk, measuring cup, griddle and cake turner at the very least.

Carl wakes just as he begins to stir water and vegetable oil in with the batter mix and he moves into the kitchen while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He brightens upon seeing the syrup on the counter and the bowl that Rick's mixing in.

"Pancakes?" he asks for verbal confirmation of what he's seeing.

"Pancakes," Rick nods with a genuine smile. "And corned beef hash."

Carl's nose snarls up a bit at the latter, but it does nothing to diminish his enthusiasm for the former.

"Mom'll like that," he says. "Remember that year we made her breakfast in bed and that one pancake got stuck on the ceiling because you flipped it so high?" Carl grins at the memory, jostling closer to the stove even as Rick and Daryl both go deathly still. "She said it was the perfect birthday surprise and then after she ate it all and went down stairs, that pancake waited until she was right under it and then it fell on her head and we all laughed and…"

His excited chatter skids to a stop and he blinks the absolute last trace of sleep from his eyes.

"I'll have cereal," he says, the light dying in his expression as he turns pointedly away from the promise of pancakes.

Rick puts the bowl down and tries to think of something to say, but Carl cuts and runs before he can open his mouth.

"I'll go wake the others," he throws over his shoulder as an excuse for the departure.

"Go," Daryl pushes him after his son while moving to pick up the bowl of batter. "I can handle flipping a few flapjacks and grilling hash."

Rick moves quickly from the cafeteria, finding the other waking in their cells, true to Carl's words, but he sees no immediate evidence of his son. Before he can panic, he hears the low hum of familiar voices and moves to the fifth cell in the row just as Michonne is quietly slipping out. He looks in to find Carl settling on the bottom bunk bed as a yawning Andrea shifts from lying down to sitting up beside the boy on her bed. Neither of them seem to be talking, but Rick still waits a few minutes before he steps into the cell's opening to make his presence obvious.

"How you feeling?" he asks her as Andrea looks up at him.

"I should be asking you that," she looks pointedly from Carl, to him and then the stitches on his arm.

"My answers probably the same as yours," he crosses his arms across his chest and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from showing his wince as the stitches in his arm pull and his muscles protest. "I'm fine."

"You're doing better than me, then," her lips twist wryly. "The most I'd have gone is an 'I'm okay.'"

Rick just shrugs at that and changes tact.

"Daryl's finishing up breakfast. Pancakes and hash," he offers.

"That sounds good," she looks from Carl to him then back again, "but I think I'll have some cereal to start today with."

Rick nods without saying anything more to that show of solidarity with his son. He pushes away from the cell and hovers outside it, but without anything of use to say he just ends up nodding again and walking back to the cafeteria. He finds Carol manning the stove with Daryl pushed back to a spectator's position, sitting on a nearby counter and just watching her flip perfectly round little pancakes with one practiced hand while occasionally stirring hash on the back of the grill with the other hand.

"I found some milk options," she tells him with a quick glance as he moves to prop a hip against the counter next to Daryl. "There's soy, rice and almond milk there," she nods to a different counter where Carl's cereal has been set out in wait for the boy and any other takers.

Rick looks at the boxes on the counter and moves to study them all curiously.

"_Rice milk_?"

"It's ideal for those lactose intolerant with nut and soy allergies," Eugene offers from the nearby table that he's settled at.

"There many of those here?" Rick snorts as he puts the box back down with an inner shudder at the unimaginable concept of rice making milk.

"Must've been at least one for the prison to stock that," Axel replies as he joins the other man at the table.

As everyone slowly gathers together and waits for Carol to serve up the hotcakes that she's flipping, Rick moves back to Daryl's side and unclips the keys from his hip.

"Ideally," he begins while contemplating the best way to divide the collection of cut metals, "we'd have two full sets; one for me, the other for you."

"Why the hell would I get one?" Daryl snorts, rearing back a bit at the thought.

"Because you're the only one that I trust them with," Rick answers, looking up to meet the other man's eye. "You're the best one to protect them; to protect _us_."

Daryl snorts again at that, feigning for derision to cover fact that Rick's statement obviously means something to him.

"We're going to try divide and conquer again today. You take half the keys and half the group one way, I take the others the other," he settles on just pulling away two of the four small keyrings hooked to the one large keyring that had been clipped to Rick's belt. "We'll need a way to label them," he sighs, looking at the jangling mass in his hands. "Be helpful to understand these damned color codes."

"Might be something up in the guard's room," Daryl muses as he accepts the portion of keys that Rick thrusts at him. "I doubt these prison hacks have this whole lot memorized. Gotta be written down somewhere. Could save us some trial and error if we look there first."

As if spurred by the notion, he hops from the counter, drops the keys in a pocket then steps across to hover for a moment over Carol's shoulder.

"Save me a plate," he tells her without enough question in his words to draw her head around.

She looks from him to Rick with concern briefly chasing the ease from her features before she forcibly irons out any wrinkles of worry before the others can see them.

"I make you no promises," she warns, wagging the cake turner in his face. "This is a hungry looking lot and if you're gone too long…"

She lets the threat hang there in the moment that they stare at one another and Rick observes them with the knowledge that she'll hold a plate for the man despite her words. Daryl, though, nods his head at the words and his shoulders slouch just a bit as he clearly believes he'll only have a bowl of cereal with no milk or faux milk to look forward to once he returns from his chosen assignment.

"You can wait until after we've eaten," Rick offers, not really seeing a point to rushing just then.

"Nah. Get it done now, that way we can let the food settle. Set a more definite course for the day."

He moves to the wall where he'd left his crossbow propped and Rick boggles at that indication of Daryl's comfort level inside the prison; that the man had left his precious weapon more than an arm's length away spoke volumes. Daryl slings the strap over his shoulder and looks to Carol as her hand hovers over a browning cake on the grill.

"Be right back," he says to her before nodding to Rick then the others in passing as he strides from the room.

"You better," she whispers after him, unaware of Rick's watchful gaze.

He bites back a smile as he turns to find some bowls in the cupboards for Carl and Andrea's cereal as the pair finally enters the room.

_Real fucking soap opera_, he thinks, remembering Daryl's words on the roadside days before and finding the statement to ring painfully true in the circumstances.


	25. Chapter 25

Daryl actually does manage to return within minutes, proudly bearing a clipboard which he hands off to Rick in exchange for a heaping plate of pancakes from Carol.

Rick watches the man settle down at the table across from the woman and smiles as he settles the clipboard on the table in front of him and divides his attention between it and the bowl of cereal in front of him.

Rice Krispies in rice milk tastes just as delicious as it sounds and to any sane person it sounds like utter shit. Rick soldiers through it, though, ignoring the way Andrea keeps grinning at him all knowing like as she seems to actually be enjoying her corn flakes growing soggy in the liquid. Course, with all the sugar she'd dumped in, _her_ cereal might actually taste good.

Carl, thankfully, seems to find the milk alternative too unique for his taste buds and it seems to be enough to distract him from the painful thoughts that had been stirred earlier by the memory of Lori's birthday breakfast from three years ago. The boy manfully empties the bowl that Andrea had wisely chosen to fill only halfway and he's now staring at Daryl's pancakes with a palpable envy.

Carol, wise mother that she was even after Sophia's passing, hides a smile behind a mug filled with steaming herbal tea then pushes to her feet to go retrieve a hidden plate holding two golden pancakes under a paper towel. She snags a bottle of syrup from the counter and moves to swap Carl's empty bowl with the plate, removing the paper towel to set on the table for her to place a butter knife and fork on. She exchanges a smiling glance with Andrea then cringe sympathetically at Rick before returning to her table to finish her tea and the bit of hash still on her plate.

Rick watches his son cut into his real breakfast with gusto and his own stomach gives an audible grumble before he lowers his gaze back to the unappealing bowl before him.

"Waste not…," Andrea whispers under her breath at him as her foot nudges lightly at his under the table.

"Want not," he grumbles, meeting her laughing eyes with a grudging amusement in his own. "I _really_ want _not_."

Her head drops forward as she tries and fails to cover the laugh that escapes her at his lowly whispered words. For a moment, she shines, light and laughter; the sun for her hair and sky for eyes. Then her hand presses too far over her mouth to try stifling her laughter and her fingers push against her cheek and she stops laughing with a hiss of pain. Rick reaches out to pull her hand away and she twists in his grasp to get a tight grip on his fingers to help her ride out the hurt.

"Stupid," she hisses, stomping a foot under the table as everyone looks on in concern. "You'd think it'd be pretty hard to forget that you've been disfigured by a murdering-" she breaks her words off and squeezes her eyes shut. "Sorry, Carl."

"Sorry for what?"

"I shouldn't have said," Andrea begins, opening her eyes to look at the boy.

"Shouldn't have said what? That you were disfigured by a murdering asshole?" Carl pushes away his half-eaten plate and rises. "You're right. You shouldn't say that. Because he cut your face, he didn't disfigure you. And he was a murdering asshole. I'm not a baby. I'm not a kid anymore," he looks around the room, voice growing too strong and firm for any of them to mistake this for a tantrum. "I may be the youngest one here, but age doesn't mean anything anymore if you can't survive on your own. I don't need coddled. That was mom's job and she's…," his head drops forward as his voice sinks back to that of a boy. "She's gone and we all just gotta get over that. She gone, Shane's gone, Dale's gone, Jaqui, Jim, Amy, everyone I ever knew in King County is gone. The world is dead or dying. Don't apologize to me for speaking the truth where I can hear it."

With that, he jams the Sheriff's hat down tight on his head then stalks from the cafeteria. There's no shortage of volunteers to go after him, everyone jumps to their feet at once with the obvious exception of a confused looking Eugene and a truly riveted by the drama Axel.

"Let me go," Beth surprises them all by speaking up and moving forward. "He doesn't need a bunch of grown-ups right now trying to sugar coat the world. I'll make sure he doesn't do anything foolish," she looks to Andrea with a weak smile then meets Rick's gaze with only a slight flinch. "I promise I won't let anything happen to your boy."

Rick scrubs a weary hand over his face then muffles a scream in his palm before nodding his assent for her to go.

"Thank you, Beth," he calls after her as she darts after his son.

He sits down heavily and shoves aside his unwanted cereal without giving a damn about waste and Andrea makes no effort to chide him; joking or seriously. He ignores the eyes upon him, grits his teeth and bears it as they all hear Axel's stage whisper to Eugene that "these people are better than Springer" then buries his focus in the clipboard Daryl brought him.

According to the lists; the color-codes are for the cell blocks, which should have been obvious in hindsight. Each of the four keyrings had a color and belonged to it's own block. A was green, B blue, C yellow and D red. As to which key is which on each keyring for each block, there really isn't anything of use and there's absolutely no reference to a causeway or access to it. Nothing on the clipboard links the armory, warehouse or garage to a cell block, which meant that it might have and require _its_ own keyring and Rick did not appear to have one if that is the case. If by some chance, those keys _are_ in his possession, he's still going to have to go through each one to find the only capable of opening that particular entrance.

"Ok," he says, softly and just to himself at first as he sets the clipboard aside. "Okay," he repeats with more conviction as he rises. "I realize that some of you are still eating and I want you to take your time with that, but we need to start planning for the day ahead. Yesterday," he pauses to take a bracing drink of coffee before continuing; "yesterday we got a glimpse of what lies in the infirmary. Andrew was lost there and we're lucky that it was just the one to fall before Michonne managed to shut more Walkers out."

"Axel," he looks to the man for confirmation and support, "Axel says that there's more to the infirmary than that. That _more_ could be good or it could be very, _very _bad. At this point, we all know to expect the latter, but we need any supplies that might be left of a medical nature. I _want_ to get across to that other building, but I won't know if any of these keys will get us there until I try them. All," he dangles the yellow tagged keys indicated by the clipboard to belong to C block, "of them. If we encounter the same kind of threat that we did yesterday, there won't be any time for us to play with the locks and we'll have to focus on going around the outside. Both options mean we'll be clearing out Walkers; both options mean we'll be at risk, but either option is manageable if we keep our heads about us."

He sees heads bobbing in agreement amongst his group and focuses on the remaining inmates.

"Axel, I'll be relying on your knowledge of the infirmary," he looks at the grizzled man then focuses on Eugene. "Eugene, we needed you for the generators yesterday, but I'll give you the option of staying back today. I'd even go so far as to recommend it. More of us means more risk; more lure. We've had better luck keeping our group small and fighting hard, quick and dirty; fierce and brutal, gets the job done."

"I can see how I'd be more hindrance than help with that," the man slumps forward, frowning over his empty plate.

Rick makes no apologies or attempts to correct the man's negative self-image. The man has value and he's demonstrated it; that value is more his brains than brawn and Rick is glad to be leaving Eugene behind in an area that's been cleared as safe for them. He turns his attention to Hershel.

"I'll give you the same option. I'd like your insights on what's of use supply wise, but once we clear the area out, you can always go back in later and do an inventory," Rick meets his steady gaze and sees no arguments there. "We can do a fair job of ransacking the place for the basic necessities."

The man nods his agreement without complaint and Eugene sits up a bit straighter at seeing Rick ask one of his own to stay behind. Carol rises to begin collecting dishes and Maggie looks divided between her father and Glenn.

"We'll pare it down to half then; Axel, Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, T-Dog and myself," Rick looks to each one in turn and braces for Andrea's protests.

"I could stay behind," Glenn surprises him by speaking up. "If you know what keys go for the gates, we could start working our way around the yards and clearing them out. I mean, why wait until tomorrow to start when we're going to have to do it anyway if we're going to be moving things there to burn them," crosses his arms defensively over his chest under the stares suddenly turned upon him. "It just makes sense to me."

Rick stares at the young man; his stiff posture and anxious pacing near the Greene family are clear indications of where his loyalties lie. Rick sees another gulf before him with no idea how to bridge it so he turns away to focus on Andrea. She arches a brow, clearly less than thrilled about being second choice, but she rises from the table without argument.

"Whatever I can do to help," she murmurs with a wry twist of her lips as she moves to stand beside Michonne.

"We'll do that, then," Rick says, seeing Glenn's logic and resistance. "Andrea, you'll come with us. The rest of you, focus outside. None of these keys have markings for the gates, so either the inside guard didn't have that access or the inner gates are all controlled electronically. If it's the former, check the guards outside for different keyrings; check the watchtowers if you can get into them. If it's the latter, we have to find the control room."

He looks to Axel at that, waiting for the inmate to volunteer the location, but the man just shakes his head.

"If the guard's room upstairs doesn't have what you're looking for, then I don't know what will. I'd imagine anything controlling this place would be located to the front; A or C block."

"What's the chance of it being in the other building?"

"There's _a_ chance," Axel shrugs.

"Look, bud," Daryl rises to move closer to the other man, "we appreciate all your help here, but cut the shit. One minute you know this place inside out, the next you've got bupkis; which is it?"

"I know this place better than any other inmate; been in it twice in my life, but I still only know it as an _inmate_. I learn things from the guards; talk to them, listen to them talk, but you go asking questions about control rooms and they tag you as an escape risk," the man pushes to his feet, growing irritated. "I'm putting up with a lot from you people and if you're just out to ride my ass then I'll gladly crawl back in a cell and play solitary. You don't like the information that I _do_ have then start sorting it out on your own."

Andrea moves quickly to stand in the inmate's path before he can stride out.

"Hey, now," she looks up at him with a small smile, "there's no need for that. We are asking a lot of you and I'm sorry we haven't thanked you for everything that you've done. Living like we've been, outside of here, I guess we've let go of some manners," she tries to widen her smile only to gasp and wince when it pulls at her stitches.

When Axel softens, looking at her butchered face with concern, she plays her trump card and looks at the man with wide eyes.

"I'd really appreciate an aspirin right now. Can you please help _me_ to get to the infirmary for that?"

His big shoulders relax and he slouches down to her level with what's likely to be his most charming smile.

"I can never say no to a beautiful woman in need," he lifts a hand as if to touch her and Rick tenses in preparation to lunge at the inmate even as Andrea keeps her calm. "It's not right," Axel says, dropping his hand after hovering it over her cheek. "What Thomas did. You've gotta know that Gene and I, we'd never-"

"I know," she lifts a hand to squeeze his shoulder, "but I'm glad to hear you say it anyway."

His smile grows and Rick frowns even as he appreciates the skillful way that Andrea diffused the situation before it could become a problem.

"I'll need something a little _more _than this," she says, turning to Rick while drawing out her pocketknife.

"Take the machete in my bunk," Carol offers from the kitchen. "We'll be more in the open here, so I'll be fine without it."

"You're not going out in those yards without a weapon, woman," Daryl turns on her with narrowing eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it, _man,_" she retorts with a pointed glance. "Someone broke into the knife drawer," she grins as produces a wicked looking meat cleaver.

"That someone best not be getting smart with me," Daryl grouses, his eyes smiling back at her.

"Oh, _no one_ would dream of doing _that_," she smiles sweetly and sets the knife down on the counter.

Seeing his friend with a look somewhere between wanting to kiss the woman and throttle her, Rick clears his throat and steps in between them to be on the safe side.

"Looks like we're just about done here," he looks at the tables being cleared of empty dishes. "I'm going to go talk to Carl. How bout everyone here do a weapons check before we head out? Make sure your sharps are sharp."

He moves to exit the cafeteria and Andrea catches his eye, silently asking if he'd like her to come with. Tempted as he is to have her support and easy touch in dealing with his son, he shakes his head and moves on without her. He has a hunch about where Carl is and it's proven right when he stalks outside and through the gate to the yard where Lori's buried. Beth and Carl are sitting in the grass beside the grave, talking calm and quiet when Rick finds them.

"Beth," he nods to the girl, "they're cleaning up inside, if you wouldn't mind…"

She looks at Carl with an apologetic smile before scrambling to her feet and moving past Rick with only a passing glance.

"You're about to do something stupid, aren't you?" Carl yanks at the grass around him, pulling it out by the roots.

"Not stupid, Carl," Rick squats down. "It's necessary. We're going for the infirmary. Get medicine, bandages, things we need. Things Andrea needs right now."

"We going now?" he pushes to his feet at the prospect.

"A group of us, yes," Rick stays down and looks up at his son, part of him boggling at how much Carl seems to be growing before his eyes. "You'll be staying here; cleaning out the yards to clear the way around to that side lot."

"Why aren't I coming with you? I can find stuff. Help carry it back."

"It's only a small group of us going. The infirmary's where we lost Andrew yesterday. I don't want to take any chance of you getting bit or accidentally hurt in a fight. I don't know what we'll be dealing with and I need to know you're safe."

"I can take care of myself," Carl's expression is mulish. "I'll be fine with you."

"You'll be _safer_ here," Rick argues firmly.

"Like mom was?"

"Carl," Rick rocks back on his heels at the challenge and accusation in that question.

"We're family. Family's supposed to stick together. We didn't and now mom's dead. The baby's gone. We're it," he widens his stance and puts his hand on the hilt of the gun on his hip like a genuine gunslinger. "I'm either with you now or never again."

Rick takes a minute to absorb the words and his son's deadly serious expression. He thinks of all the warnings and talks that he's had with the boy of late and he remembers the things that Carl has seen – has _done._

"You're right," he nods, pushing slowly to his feet. "You're ready. How many bullets do you have left?"

"Five," Carl answers without even checking.

"Now, Carl, you should always-"

Carl cuts off his lecture before it begins by whipping the gun out and pushing the chamber out with a practiced move likely learned from Shane.

"It holds six," he flips the revolver around to show Rick the ammunition inside. "It was fully loaded when we went out yesterday and it's only been fired one time. I still remember my math, six minus one if five. Always know what you've got to work with."

He pushes the chamber back into place, tucks the gun back in his pants and tips his head back.

"I know, dad. I've seen you do this a hundred times already. I _listen_ when _you_ talk. Now let's go. We're wasting daylight."

Rick turns and watches him stride away; his spine straight, focus dead ahead and step certain. He's suddenly, painfully, aware of why Lori wanted them to try keeping Carl a boy for as long as they could.


	26. Chapter 26

They make it back to the intake center without incident, following the arrows left previously.

Rick stands in the middle of the mess of yesterday and he studies the tiers above and the gate that they'd closed to stop Walkers from getting in.

"If there's medical on every floor, then every floor has access?" he asks Axel without looking away from his study of the second floor landing.

"Sure. Might need keys, though."

Rick nods absently and leaves the group gathered together there while he jogs down the short corridor to the gate. He stills his breath and listens for sounds of shuffling and. when he hears none, he presses close to try getting a look at the other side. He doesn't see any zombies, so he pushes at the gate to try going through. The door rattles and clangs, but doesn't swing open. He draws back to contemplate the keys on his hip, debating whether he wants to bother sorting through them to open the lock.

He hears the raspy snarling of the Walker before it throws itself against the bars of the barrier and he takes his time about withdrawing his baton to jab through the gate to push out the zombie's eye. As that one falls, another shambles forward and Rick deliberately rattles the gate to see how many more respond to the noise. Three pile against the barrier, their hands and teeth trying to get through for a piece of him and he pushes away with a huff of disgust.

"They're definitely on the first floor," he reports the obvious to the group as they stare down at the flailing limbs coming through those metal bars. "I'd like to get it all cleared, but we'll have to save here for last if at all. This area is good, so we climb. Question is, how high before we push forward for the infirmary?"

He scratches his jaw and looks to Daryl then Michonne then Andrea before trying to gauge the thoughts of T-Dog, Axel or Carl.

"The causeway's our main goal," Daryl looks to the second floor. "Focus on that. You said the entrance is off the second floor?"

"Yeah, just high enough for vehicles to clear driving under," Axel nods.

"You'll need time, though, to sort through that mess to find a key that opens the door and you may not even have one," Michonne looks to the high levels, arms folded over her chest and katana tucked safely way. "It would be better not to have to worry about these things stumbling in on us while you're sorting that out."

"We could split up," Andrea contributes. "Two to a floor, quiet sweeps at first. Recon. Determine the threat on each level and start to take it out."

"The keys are the problem again," Michonne points out. "Every floor will have doors. We won't know which ones require keys until we come to them and without the keys being labeled, we'll have to go through each one until we find the correct one to gain entry. And we only have one guide to be telling us where we'd need to go on each floor."

"Never thought I'd hate being popular," Axel huffs out a nervous laugh when they all look to him.

"We'll set our first priority as supplies," Rick says, moving nearer to the inmate. "Where are we most likely to find them still?"

The man scratches at his mustache and bites his lip as he looks up in thought.

"Gen pop would have gone through whatever they had trying to deal with the first outbreak. They'd have saved the seg wing for last; true emergency situations. Trouble is," he drops his head with a sigh, "they had a true emergency situation. Tell me straight," he draws a breath, straightens his spine and looks Rick in the eye. "You gonna kill me if we get in there and there's nothing left?"

Rick knows that he's given the man more reasons to expect that than not, but he's surprised to see his own people stiffening and avoiding his gaze while they await the answer to that question themselves.

"No," he barks out, looking at Andrea and Daryl with some of the hurt he feels at their doubt. "You can't know what's in there any more than we can, I know that," he focuses on assuring the inmate. "You're here to guide us through and we need that for more than the infirmary. Only thing I'd kill you for is leading us into a trap," he presses in to stare the man down. "You planning on walking us into a trap, Axel?"

"Hell, no," he throws up his hands in a universal sign of surrender. "I wouldn't even if I could set one up. I just want to live, same as you."

"Good. Then we don't have any problems," Rick nods and draws back.

"We don't?" Axel asks hopefully, slowly lowering his hands with the memory of the day before clear in his gaze.

"No. We don't," Rick drops his head for a moment. "Look, Andrea's right. We've been on a hard road. I've done things…said things. Heat of the moment, the moment's past."

It's as close to an apology as he'll allow and Axel seems happy enough to accept it. He offers a friendly grin then tips his head back to study the levels above them.

"We go up. Fourth floor, there," he points to the door to the left of the landing. "Go through and go straight to the end and they'll be a staircase up to the tower room. That's likely one of the last safe havens this place had and it's your best hope of finding anything left."

"That's settled then," Rick accepts the words with a nod. "We go up then we'll work our way down. Daryl, Michonne," he looks to each in turn, "you'll be first in. You're quick, you're quiet; you can clear the way for all of us," he tosses the yellow keys to Daryl. "I'll bring up the rear."

They all nod and take to the stairs without further ado. Daryl leads the way with Michonne, Axel, T-Dog, Carl then Andrea following as she seems to hang back to be with him. Rick pauses to give her a look and finds her staring back at him curiously.

"I'm going to want to know what that was about," she says with a pointed look toward Axel.

The group reaches the first landing and Daryl tests the knob on the door at the end of the walkway to make sure it's closed to prevent anything from stumbling out on them.

"Nothing of concern now," he tells her, not wanting to get into it. "Lot happened yesterday, today's about moving past it."

"Can we?" she asks; her eyes saying she's no longer talking about Axel.

He sighs, reaching out to tip her head up with his forefinger under her chin while his thumb ghosts along her cheek under the rough stitching of her cut.

"It'll take time," he answers softly, "but all wounds heal."

She closes her eyes, takes a gentle hold of his wrist and lifts his hand to press a kiss to his palm before she releases him to move quickly up the stairs to catch up to the others on the third level. As they climb to the fourth, everyone grows quiet and tense as the real work is about to begin.

They line up single file on the walkway, backs pressing against the wall as Daryl reaches to turn the knob. Rick draws a breath in and holds it as the knob turns slowly in the man's hand only to stop short of opening the door.

"Locked," Daryl spits the word like a curse and drops to a knee to start the process of testing the keys in the lock.

There are twenty-two keys on this particular ring; Rick had counted them.

The tenth opens the lock.

Before opening the door, Rick watches curiously as Daryl carefully works the key off the ring to leave it in the lock.

"Got to thinking," he says without looking around at Rick's intense regard, "forget labeling. Find the key, leave the key. Do we really need locks right now?" he casts a glance back then as he tucks the remaining keys in his pocket. "Leave them as we go so they don't get tried again on other locks then we'll come back to collect and label them later. That way we'll know what's what because it's _in_ the lock."

Rick tips his head forward in acknowledgement of the sound reasoning then he looks pointedly at the still closed barrier to their objective. Daryl rolls his eyes in response then looks to Michonne as he shifts to put his back to the railing along the walkway.

"On three," he tells them all while directing the instruction at her.

She gives a single nod and unsheathes her katana. That sends the signal to everyone to knuckle up and Rick watches with a sense of pride as, one by one, each member of the team straightens and ready themselves with weapons upraised for any oncoming threat.

Daryl curls his left hand around the doorknob and raises his right with the middle three fingers upright.

He looks to Michonne and mouths the word, "one" then folds down his index finger.

"Two," and the middle finger goes down.

"Three."

He makes a fist with his right hand and quickly yanks the door open with his left. Michonne vanishes into the opening as soon as it's enough for her slender form then Daryl swings his crossbow up to his shoulder and he darts in after her. The door clicks shut behind them without anything having stumbled out and they'd moved in too quickly for Rick to have seen if there was anything waiting on the other side.

"Go," he leans forward to hiss at Axel and the man looks back at him like he's insane. "Theo!"

T-Dog nods and moves quickly around the other man to open the door again. He holds it open for them to all see Michonne inside with her katana flashing as it severs the head from a Walker and Daryl's taking aim at a body reaching for him from behind a check-in station. Carl doesn't hesitate to move forward with his machete raised and Andrea is right behind him with hers. Rick rushes forward, grabbing Axel's arm as he goes and dragging the man along as T-Dog joins the fray and shuts the door behind them.

"Stay with me," he orders the inmate as they move to quickly subdue the threat. Axel hugs the wall and watches with his club twisted tightly in his hands as they hack and slash their way through five zombies.

Once the open area is cleared, they do a quick check of door to make sure they're all securely shut to prevent any welcoming committees from forming before they get back down from the fifth floor.

"See now?" Theodore grins and moves to clap Axel companionably on the shoulder. "That wasn't so bad."

They fall into line again against the wall as Daryl moves to the stairway entrance at the end of the row. He tests the knob and it opens. He looks at it in surprise then flashes a glance over his shoulder to Michonne. She steps quickly into position to move forward as he pulls the door open.

The stairway is dark except for the flicking EXIT sign above the door and Michonne moves forward with caution, but it's just stairs without any real place for zombies to lurk. Carl moves to hold the door open while Daryl follows the woman up the metal stairs to the short landing above. There's no room for more than two people, so Rick merely moves into the open doorway to watch as the pair shifts around to work on opening the door.

Michonne takes a step back to brace herself as Daryl tests the knob and finds it locked. He sets aside his bow and goes for the keyring to begin the tedious process of elimination to get the lock open.

The others move to huddle in the doorway as one key becomes two becomes twelve. Daryl's cursing more creatively than Rick's ever managed to do – mostly because Rick never would have thought of using "squirrel" in such as fashion – as he gets down to the last key. He casts a look down at Rick, pauses to wipe the sweat from his face, then gives a here-goes-everything shrug and shoves the last key in the lock.

It fits.

It turns.

It unlocks the door.

Everyone exhales a sigh of relief and Rick allows himself half a smile as Daryl works the key off the ring to leave in the lock. They shift from idle to anticipatory positions and watch the door. This one swings inward and Rick has reservations about Daryl pushing in blind, but such is the risk they all take.

Michonne readies herself without prompting and nods when Daryl indicates he's about to begin another three count. He wraps the strap of his bow around his wrist, then raises his hand with those three fingers up. They all watch the digits fold down then the man is turning the knob and throwing his shoulder into the barrier.

It doesn't budge.

He draws back, looks at the door and twists the knob to assure himself that he's got it turned all the way, then he shoves again at the barrier. This time they hear a dull thud of impact.

"Barricaded?"

Rick and Daryl exchange glances and he moves up the stairs to join the pair at the landing.

"Axel?"

"No idea," the man looks up with a shake of his head. "Might be some of the medical staff tried to hole up in there. Could be one of the special cases had this shit and the suite was in use."

"We're already here," Daryl looks at him with a shrug as Rick silently questions pressing onward.

"On three," Rick lines up beside the other man to add his weight to throw against the obstruction.

They exchange nods and Daryl raises his hand to count.

Before he begins, the door cracks open and the narrow barrel of a sniper rifle emerges from the gap.

"This is Sergeant Abraham Ford," a voice booms firmly from the other side. "The fact that you've managed to open the lock tells me that you'll be able to understand my words. There are live inside. Cease whatever incursion you have planned and toss your credentials in to me."

Rick and Daryl fall quickly back from the barrel of the gun, moving with Michonne to retreat back to the doorway below.

"'Credentials?'" Daryl scoffs, glaring up at the door.

"Did he say Abraham?" Axel pushes forward with a bewildered expression. "Abe?! Honest Abe, that you?!"

The gap above widens enough for a shock of red hair to become visible.

"Name, rank and serial number," the voice replies.

"Sheeit, you know I don't have any of that. It's Axel, man," the inmate starts up the steps with a huff of laughter. "Stotler, Alexander C, aka Axel Grease, aka Axel, inmate 4762512; in date February 18, 2009. Now put that gun down and get the hell out here, brother!"

The gun withdraws and the door clicks shut.

"Stotler, Alexander C, aka Axel Grease, aka Axel **aka** _airhead_," Daryl snaps, "you do not waltz up on a man barricaded with a gun. Get the fuck back here!"

"Get back," Rick hushes the man and waves everyone back away from the doorway as he hears the scrape of furniture moving above.

He ducks in after them and pokes his head around the doorjamb to watch as Axel ignores Daryl's order and stands on the landing waiting got the door to open. After several minutes of audible activity above, the door crack open again and a bald young black man pokes his head out to look at Axel.

"I'll be damned."

The stranger chokes out a laugh, casts a look at something behind him, nods then his arm flashes out to grab hold of Axel's coveralls to yank the inmate inside.

The door slams immediately shut behind them and Rick rears back in surprise.

He steps into the stairway in disbelief only to dart back as the door suddenly opens again. He sees a flash of that red hair then a streak of white as the man above, _"Sergeant Abraham Ford,"_ nimbly pulls the key from the lock before slamming the barrier shut again with an audible click of the lock being reset on the other side.

"What just happened?"

Rick honestly has no idea who says it; they are all thinking it.


	27. Chapter 27

NOTE: Yes, I have seen the season 3 finale. Yes, I'm in shock. I'm in denial. I'm...I'm beyond boggled by what the series has done to comic canon. Let me remind you and restate that this is a rewrite of the season with an emphasis on making the show more to the comic book storyline. And I promise you, this story will continue on to the end that I have planned without any influence from the finale. I'll reveal now that this series is set all pre-Governor and will only contain elements of Rick and the group making a home in the prison before they have any knowledge of Woodbury. As for the show. I honestly have no idea what to expect anymore, so long live my muses and fanfiction because here my favorites shall live on!

* * *

"We go get him," Daryl snarls, pacing the length of the room from one door to the other.

"He took our key," Rick sighs for the umpteenth time in the thirty or so minutes. "Can you pick the lock?"

"I can hotwire a car, but locks were Merle's thing," he answers honestly, missing Rick exasperated attempt as sarcasm.

"I might be able to," Andrea volunteers. "Anyone have a bobby pin or paper clip?"

They all turn to slowly stare at her and she raises her hands defensively.

"Oh, please," she snorts. "Do you have any idea how expensive a locksmith is? I lost the keys to my apartment a few times and came across a client who was in the trade, so I asked him how to get around the lock if it happened again."

Daryl snorts skeptically, but he moves to the check-in desk to look for a paperclip. While he's rummaging, Rick moves closer to the blonde and nudges at her arm.

"Sure there isn't some illustrious past in cat burglary you want to tell me about?" he quirks a smile at her.

"Oh, sure," she leans in to whisper playfully, "I was a real Catwoman. All black leather, slipping in unseen, stealing only the best diamonds then slipping back out without a trace other than the empty jewel cases I left behind."

Rick plays along, running his gaze over her body and all too easily imaging it encased in skin-tight leather to showcase every curve and enhance every line.

"Rick," she blushes and looks away, "you're staring."

"You bet I am," he mumbles under his breath as she moves away to help Daryl.

His eyes are drawn to her backside and he mentally replaces the bulky orange prison garb for supple leather and he has to look away quickly before he forgets himself entirely.

"Got it!" she springs away from the desk with one hand raised in triumph.

"Good," he moves to take the clip from her. "Now tell me what to do."

"Well, first, you take that paperclip there," she moves close and leans in secretively, "and _give it back to __**me.**_"

Daryl snorts out a laugh at that and kicks back in the chair behind the desk to watch for nothing better to do.

"You wanna go help the others?" Rick gives the man a sharp look.

"Nah, I am good right. Here," he tucks his arms up behind his head and props his feet up on the desk.

"Look," Rick strives to ignore the bastard and takes Andrea's arm to lead her off to a corner, "I am not letting you go up there alone. They have guns and that rifle can probably shoot right through the door. I'm not sending you up there-"

"That's right," she reaches for his hands and gives each of them a gentle squeeze, "you're not sending me. I'm going," she plucks the paperclip from his hand and gives him a distracting kiss on the cheek before darting past.

"She is gooooood," Daryl laughs, even as he jumps to his feet to follow her into the stairwell.

"Andrea!" Rick snaps as he follows them both.

She pauses near the landing and throws him a warning glance, putting a finger to her lips to order silence before she creeps up the last two steps. She carefully puts her ear to the door and listens for several minutes without seeming to so much as breathe.

"I don't hear anything," she pulls away to whisper down to them.

"Good, then you can _get back down here_ before they shoot you," Rick hisses back.

"I hardly think-"

"And _that_ is why I am telling you to get down here," Rick deliberately cuts her off right there, earning another laugh from Daryl and a thoroughly unamused scowl from Andrea.

She ignores them both and turns her attention to straightening out the paperclip. Once she's done that, she moves to the knob and takes it in hand.

"This isn't like my door," she frowns, twisting the knob experimentally before jamming the clip in anyway.

She wiggles and jiggles the clip; pokes and twists it around until it starts to bend in new shapes, but the lock never clicks up.

"Worth a shot, now come here," Rick tells her when her shoulders finally slump in defeat and she pulls the mangled paperclip back out.

She drops the clip with a sigh and pushes away from the door.

"We can't just leave him."

"They're his people," Daryl reaches up to nudge her arm and urge her back down the stairs. "I'd be more concerned about us than him, right now."

As if to give merit to those concerns, the lock above finally clicks open and the door slowly opens while Rick and Andrea both rush to draw their guns and Daryl whips his crossbow into firing position.

"You really thought that a _prison_ would have locks that could be picked with a paperclip?"

The redhead moves into the doorway, openly laughing at them as a woman holding the sniper rifle at ready and the unknown black man, also armed, flank him in the opening. The sound of hammer's cocking echoes loudly in the stairwell followed by the man's voice.

"Stand down," he glances over his shoulder and jerks his chin forward.

"Relax," Axel says as he moves into sight. "We're good."

He moves forward as the armed strangers slip back.

"Never thought I'd be so glad to run into a bull, but," he claps a hand on the redhead's shoulder and turns to address Rick, "this here is Abe. He saved my life," Axel beams and moves to place himself in front of the other man upon seeing no ease in their defensive stances. "He's the guard who locked us in the cafeteria. That," he thumbs over his shoulder toward the black guy, "that there is my cellmate, Oscar, I shit you not. She's one of the nurses here, Rosita Espinosa, and they've even got one of the docs still alive."

"A nurse?" Andrea slowly lowers her Ladysmith and looks past the men to the woman in their shadows. "A doctor?"

"I was the dentist here, to be factual," a voice states from somewhere inside the room above, "but I _am_ medically trained."

"That's Milt," Axel introduces with a slight eyeroll just for their benefit.

"Milton Mamet, DDS, if you don't mind," the voice becomes clearer as a bespectacled man pokes his head out past the others. "I am not fond of nicknames. One's proper name _is_ proper and should be used in polite conversations."

"Riiiight," Rick drawls as he looks to Daryl then the two slowly lower their weapons. "That's Andrea," he nods to her. "Daryl," the man cocks his head to acknowledge the introduction; "and I'm Deputy Sheriff Rick Grimes of King County."

"King County?" Abraham scoffs, the corner of his thick Biker moustache kicks up in amusement. "A bit out of your jurisdiction, Officer."

"We're all rather out of our elements anymore, Sergeant," Rick offers a weak smile in return and holsters the Python.

"That uniform's one of ours," the guard shifts his stance, subtly drawing attention to the hilt of a gun in his own thigh holster.

"I needed a change," Rick replies. "Mine…mine got bloody."

The amusement fades from the man's face and sympathy replaces it.

"Axel told us," the man taps Axel on the shoulder and urges him to step aside. "Axel told us a lot of things. Like there were six of you with him down here and six more on the block. Where are the other three?"

"Scavenging," Rick answers honestly, mentally kicking Axel's chatty ass. "We're in need of medical supplies."

He raises his right arm as evidence and Andrea angles her neck to better show the slash on her cheek to the medical staff above.

"There isn't much left," Rosita says as she reaches out a hand toward Andrea. "Come on it, we'll see what we can do."

"I'd be happier if you came out," Rick says as Andrea looks to him for guidance.

"We'll be doing that," Abraham says as he moves past Daryl to stand on Rick's level, "but for now, everything's set up in there. Let Rosie fix up your friend. Axel says you're looking to get across the yard?"

Rick sighs and glares toward the inmate before looking to Daryl with a question in his eyes. The other man flicks a glance up to the strangers in the doorway then down to the guard on the landing and he gives a shrug with a 'hell, why not expression' in answer.

"We need full access to and control of this place. Axel says the armory's over there; supplies warehouse, garage. Things we'll need to survive the winter."

"These keys," the man reaches inside his flac jacket and pulls out a keyring, "will get you there. _With_ my help."

"What do you want?" Rick asks, molars grinding.

"My kids back alive, would be a start, but we all know that this world is beyond that," the man answers heavily, hands out from his sides in a peaceable gesture. "I'll settle for you telling me that it's safe enough for us to come out of this tower and maybe make our way outside to breathe in fresh air for the first time in months."

"The other half of my group is working on clearing out the yards as we speak," Rick replies, not going anywhere near the sensitive subject of dead children. "It's a risk, always will be I suppose, but it _is_ safe enough for you to come out."

Michonne, Carl and Theodore pick that moment to slowly approach, weary of the stranger and laden with supplies.

"This is Michonne," Rick begins the introductions, "Theodore "T-Dog" Douglas and my son, Carl."

The man looks at Carl, blinks and swallows like he's seen a ghost then he looks forcibly away.

"Let Rosita and Milton tend to your wounds then we'll worry about the rest," the man says, his voice gruffer as he suddenly turns to push past Daryl to climb the stairs again.

The nurse watches his approach with soft eyes and reaches out to touch him as he stalks past, but he shrugs her off and disappears into the room above. She watches after him for a moment then turns to them.

"I'll give you one minute to get the hell in here before I cancel the offer of my services and leave that to fester," she threatens with a pointed look at the angry red gash on Andrea's face.

With that she turns and moves out of sight with the others following her example and leaving the door open in invitation. Rick looks to the others before meeting Andrea's gaze and nodding to encourage her up the stairs.

"Leave that here for now," he tells the others with a glance at the bags they now carry. "We'll collect them on our way down."

"We're just going in there?" Carl asks, reaching out to snag Rick's hand before he began climbing the steps.

"Yeah," he sighs, trying not to let his shoulders slump, "looks like we are."

Andrea and Daryl creep carefully up the stairs and over the threshold with Rick urging Carl to follow him along. T-Dog and Michonne are quiet as they trail behind them.

Crossing the threshold is like entering another world.

The walls are a pristine white and the floors are clean tile. No corpses or gore in sight.

Rick can imagine muzak playing over a loud speaker to fill the space with mellow noise as white coated medical staff shuffles around going about their rounds.

"Abe kept them out of here," Rosita says from a nearby doorway as she sees Rick's reaction. "We made a few mistakes, let the wrong one's in, but we've managed."

"How you been living up here? Food? Water?"

"We've managed," she repeats, stepping aside as waving Andrea into the room.

She hesitates and Rick moves to her side to put his hand in the small of her back and urge her forward. They move together into the room, looking at the exam table and medical implements all around.

"Having the power back has been nice," the nurse says as she begins moving familiarly around the room to gather supplies. "Your doing?"

"One of yours," Rick replies as he urges Andrea to take a seat on the table while he moves to lean against the wall beside her. "Eugene worked his mojo and got the generators running. We just made sure he got there to do it."

"Eugene's still alive?" she huffs out a laugh at that. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, he _is_ a clever one."

She snaps on a pair of latex gloves, grabs a bottle of alcohol and several cotton swabs.

"This is going to sting like a motherfucker," she warns Andrea as she uncaps the bottle and begins soaking the first ball.

"Is that your medical opinion?" Andrea snorts as she watches the other woman approach.

"Personal and professional," Rosita replies, turning to thrust the bottle of alcohol at Rick. "Hold this."

She puts a firm grip on Andrea's chin and angles her head to the side before she begins swabbing the stitches with alcohol. Andrea hisses at the burn of the contact and her knuckles show bone white through her skin as she tightly grips the edge of the table in her hands. Rick shifts the bottle of alcohol to his right hand and reaches without thought to take hold her arm with his freed hand. Her head turns toward him, earning a growl of disapproval from their nurse, before she smiles and shifts her hand to take hold of his.

Their hands remain clasped while Rosita cleans the stitches and applies antibacterial cream then clean bandages to Andrea's face.

They stay clasped as the woman tends to Rick's cuts.


End file.
